


Fantasy

by GhostsandGhouls, YanaWrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostsandGhouls/pseuds/GhostsandGhouls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanaWrites/pseuds/YanaWrites
Summary: The Manor provided a fantasy for men, a place to escape from reality. None of it was supposed to be real—then it all suddenly became very real for Kyoutani, tangled in the arms of Numai...Stuck to every piece of him, including the club.
Relationships: Daishou Suguru/Sakishima Isumi, Kyoutani Kentarou/Numai Kazuma
Comments: 8
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

The club is the same as usual, filled with the same crowd, dim lights only casting a silhouette of the bodies. There’s more sat closer to the stage, which is lit brighter, the first dancer of the night already half-way through his performance, clad in silver to match his name. There’s a new group occupying one of the booths, drinks flowing easily around the table.

It’s a shitty sort of birthday, Kyoutani thinks as he glances sidelong at the stage. Next to him, Oikawa is drunk, leaning heavily against his shoulder. He swallows his drink in one go, as if more alcohol would improve the evening. Music blasts through the speakers, it’s some overplayed pop song that Kyoutani loves to hate. On stage a man not much older than Kyoutani grinds against the floor, biting his lip in a way that would have sent his heart racing. It  _ would _ have. But not today. He watches the dancer less out of arousal, and more to avoid watching Iwaizumi and Oikawa share sips of the same sugary-sweet cocktail. Tonight hadn’t been his idea. Kyoutani swirls the half-melted ice around the bottom of his glass. The music shifts, and with it Kyoutani’s attention. 

Numai always feels a rush through his body when his music starts to play, Izuru passes him and Numai walks out onto the stage. His body is covered in glitter, matching the black hot-pants he’s wearing. He walks to the edge of the stage, swaying to the music, the crowd are eager and the second he drops to his knees, money makes its way to the waistband. Numai’s body rolls to the music, he leans forward to tease a finger over one of the men's chest, he makes his way back to his feet moments later and heads to the pole.

It’s always one of his favourite things to do, his hands snake around it and he swings his body around twice, hips swaying. Numai’s ankles hug the pole too, and he rolls himself up against the cool metal. He shifts to press his groin closer, thighs gripping tightly and pushing himself further upwards, allowing him to flip backwards. His hands support him easily and he winks to the crowd as his hips roll to the music.

Kyoutani tells himself it’s the glitter, catching the light with every shift of the dancer’s muscles. That it’s normal for a person to watch as strippers dance on stage. It is how they make money after all. Truth is, Kyoutani is transfixed. He shrugs Oikawa off of his shoulder, turning to get a better look at the stage. The dancer—Cobra, he remembers an announcer saying—sinks to his knees and Kyoutani’s mouth goes dry.

Numai flips over to his feet, he tucks the yen into the string underneath the shorts. He toys the waistband, his body still perfectly matching his music, he tugs off the short crop-top, which felt suffocating with how small it was and the motion reveals the rest of his body, more glitter shining over his chest and collarbones. Then he tugs the shorts, hips rolling as they fall down his body and pool at his feet. He’s left in a fitted thong, dark green to stand out against his skin. He takes to the pole again and works himself against it, hooking one leg firmly around it as he spins, back arching and hips rocking.

His song is coming to the end, and he works the stage again, sinking low on his knees, body almost pressing flat against the stage. Numai works his body through the rest of the song then slides from the stage as his music trails off into the next, Araki’s announcement rolls out and Numai starts working his way through the crowd. Barely-there touches hovering over the shoulders of the men he passes, then he works over to the booths, dipping into one that has a smaller group of guys.

The room feels hot, or maybe that’s just the blood rushing to Kyoutani’s face as he watches the clothing pile up at the dancer’s feet. He’s almost afraid to look up. It’s already warm and one spark might just set him aflame. Kyoutani lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and lets his eyes trail over the toned muscle of his legs. His brows furrow and his mouth twists into a frown. People have no business being as attractive as Cobra is. 

"Has our little Kyoken-chan found someone that catches his eye?" The cheery lilt of Oikawa’s voice makes Kyoutani turn. 

"No." Kyoutani lies through gritted teeth. "And I’m not little."

He goes to take a drink, only to realize that his glass is empty. "Come on, loosen up. It’s your birthday." Iwaizumi says from the other side of the booth. As if Kyoutani isn’t painfully aware what day it is. 

Kyoutani glares at the two of them, opening his mouth to snark back. There’s movement, a flash of warm skin and dark green, just at the edge of his vision and the words die in his throat. He glances over. It’s a funny thing, how chairs manage to make the person sitting in them seem far shorter than they actually are. It wasn’t anything Kyoutani has ever particularly cared about. Until now. The first thing he sees is a thong, so dark that it might as well be black. This close, however, Kyoutani can see that it’s a deep shade of green. His eyes flick up, trying not to linger too long on any one thing. After a moment, Kyoutani settles on looking at the pretty brown of the dancer’s eyes. They feel far safer than staring open-mouthed at the curve of his neck, of the lines of his collarbone. 

Oikawa leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Hello, Cobra-chan,” Kyoutani can hear the grin in his voice and he has half a mind to make Oikawa shut up. “Do you have time for a private dance? I think our birthday boy needs a little cheering up.”

“I have plenty of time.” Numai winks. Araki's music moves him and he sways his hips. “And a birthday boy? I'll make sure that it's extra special.” His eyes flicker through the group, then land firmly on a very grumpy face. "The rooms are over there, just past the curtain," He points next to the bar. "The first room. If you want it, I can take you in there." Numai loves getting new customers, it means they might come back. “2900 Yen per song, you can have as many as you'd like," The birthday boy looks like a deer caught in headlights, but it's Numai's job to change that. He steps back a little, sliding a hand down his chest, then up and he leans in just a touch, his whole body rocking to the music. “Let me show you a good time.”   
  
Numai reaches over, sliding his hand down  _ grumpy face's _ arm, leaving a trail of glitter behind. If there's one thing he can do, it's turn men to putty and convince them to sit in the private room as long as possible. He raises his hand and beckons the guy with his index finger. “What'll it be?”   
  
Everything in Kyoutani’s body tells him to say yes, to melt under the dancer’s touch. His face burns, eyes following the trail of Cobra’s hand. It feels dangerous, somehow, like he’s being lured in. “No.” Kyoutani says.

Unfortunately, he says it at the exact same time Oikawa says, “He’d love to.”

He glares over at Oikawa, tossing out a "fuck you". There’s heat to his gaze, but the two have known each other long enough to realize that glaring might as well be bedroom eyes for Kyoutani. “Fine.” Kyoutani says, turning back to face Cobra.

The guy on the left slides out of the booth, Numai winks at him. “I’ll have time for more later.” He takes the birthday boy’s wrist and leads him out of the booth, through the club to the curtain near the bar, the room itself is lit better, there’s a small couch and two tables, one with bottles on, the other with the stereo. “Make yourself as comfortable as you’d like. Have a drink. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Numai leaves him there, slinking out of the room to go change. It doesn’t take him long, he’s used to making quick changes like this during the night and he returns moments later. He’s wearing a black shirt, made completely out of mesh and green hot pants, a sliver of white peeking from under the waistband. “There’s rules. You pick how many songs you want, you give me the money first and you keep your hands to yourself. Is that okay?”

Kyoutani sits on the couch, trying to figure out what exactly to do with himself while Cobra changes. After a moment of tense anxiety, he gives in, crossing the room to mix himself a drink. He’s got his back turned when the dancer returns, and his breath catches in his throat when he turns to face him. “Yeah, sounds fine.” He mumbles, abandoning his drink at the bar to sit stiffly on the couch. It’s hard not to stare, to let his eyes travel down the barely covered expanse of Cobra’s chest, but he tries to pay attention to literally anything else. He pulls out a neatly folded stack of bills that Oikawa had slipped into his pocket before he left the table. “I’ll, uh— Have two songs. I guess.” It feels weird to ask for this sort of thing, and even weirder to pay for it. Kyoutani passes Numai the money and lets his hands fall obediently to his sides.   
  
Numai takes the money and starts counting it. “Do you have a name, birthday boy?" He puts away the money into the drawer of the table where the stereo is and leans over to tuck what’s left into the guys front pocket, patting it gently with a smile. “You gave me too much. You’re new, right? Just take a breath and relax.” He takes the drink from the table and passes it over. “Here, drink this. I can’t leave it there.”   
  
"Don’t call me that." Kyoutani says, maybe a little too harsh. It’s hard not to watch every move Cobra makes, to see the way his muscles move under the sheer fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t want to mention his given name, somehow it feels too personal. Kyoutani holds his breath when the dancer slides money back into the pocket of his jeans. It’s strange, really, Cobra could have kept it, could have taken advantage of Kyoutani’s nerves. He didn’t. Every word Cobra says has him in a trance. He takes a deep breath, sinking back into the couch. "My name is Kyoutani." He takes a long sip of his drink.   
  
Numai is completely unaffected by the rough tone, he’s had worse in here anyway. "Kyoutani." He repeats, nodding. He takes the glass once it’s empty and puts it back on the table. He walks to the stereo, sets up two of his favourite songs and presses play. The music rolls through his body and he slinks over to Kyoutani, his hips swaying. His fingers tug at the shirt, sliding it up to run his hands smoothly over his stomach.

He slides forward, straddling over Kyoutani’s thighs. His body moves automatically, sinking close to Kyoutani’s thighs and rocking against him, an unfamiliar tingle runs through him but he ignores it and pulls his shirt off, hands sliding over his body, snaking down to dip his fingers under the waistband of his shorts. He pushes himself back, body arching and swaying, it’s easy to fold over and he flips away, spinning around to shake his ass. He unbuttons his pants and sways his body as he tugs them down, kicking them off. Numai turns to face Kyoutani again, the thong white with silver sparkles, he sways forward and straddles Kyoutani again, his body still moving to the music.

There’s something mesmerizing about the way Cobra moves, and Kyoutani hangs on to every second of it. The snake has become the snake charmer and he couldn’t look away now if he tried. His eyes follow the trail of Cobra’s shirt as he pulls it over his head. Every movement is fluid, rolling into the next as Cobra lets his hands travel over his skin. Kyoutani’s eyes go wide when he finds the waistband of his shorts. His hands clench tightly into fists at his sides. "Holy shit." It slips out before he can really think about it and heat rushes to his face. The white fabric of Cobra’s thong is all that’s left and somehow it feels so much more personal when it’s like this. When Kyoutani is the only one who gets to see. He bites his lip to stop from saying anything else stupid, and watches as Cobra kneels over him once more.

Numai almost asks if this is okay, that it’s not too much, he’s had praises before, ones that make a lot less sense than  _ holy shit _ and he takes it in stride. He rolls closer to Kyoutani, their chests brushing for a moment before Numai slides down, his ass pressing firmly against Kyoutani’s thighs. He touches himself again, hands curving up over his shoulders and along his collarbone, until he reaches his neck. He pokes his tongue out, tracing the piercing with the tip of his finger and then sliding the digit down over his body, slowly along the thin string of his thong. He braces himself against the back of the couch, their bodies pressing closer, his hips still following the beat of the music. Numai’s breath is hot and erratic, with how close they’re pressed together, there’s no way that Kyoutani doesn’t realise.

He doesn’t stop though, and when the beat of the music changes, his body follows, back arching so their chests press closer, head lulling to the side and swaying slowly, a movement that rushes down like a waterfall, his body looks like it could be in a trance. He lifts himself away, spinning around on the spot and dropping into a squat, his ass rocking to the beat.   


It’s just a lap dance, Kyoutani tries to remind himself. He wants to reach out, to replace Cobra’s hands with his own, but he doesn’t. His breath hitches when Cobra shows off his tongue piercing, the flash of metal catches Kyoutani’s eye and sends him reeling. It’s hard not to wonder what it would feel like against his skin or in his own mouth. Heat rushes through Kyoutani’s body and suddenly Cobra is closer than ever, so close that Kyoutani can feel his breath against his ear. His eyes flutter closed, just for a moment, before Cobra presses their chests together and Kyoutani has to try and hold back a groan. There’s a moment where Cobra looks lost in the music, body moving as if it’s second nature, and Kyoutani can’t help but think it’s probably the hottest thing he’s ever seen. Every move, every roll of Cobra’s hips, makes Kyoutani feel dizzy and a little helpless. It’s addicting, and he savors every second of it.

Numai follows the beat, body sliding upright. He steps back, and sits perfectly in Kyoutani’s lap, pretending not to feel the heat under him. He rocks backwards, hands smoothing over his own thighs, up his body and into his hair. Numai knows what his job is. He looks over his shoulder at Kyoutani and licks his lips as he rolls his hips again. Firm, demanding. His fingers tangle through the loose blond locks and he tugs, making his head fall back, an exhale of breath leaving his lips.   
  
He rolls his tongue down over his bottom lip, then flicks it up over his top, sliding over his cupid’s bow and teasing up his philtrum ridges. Numai drops his hands into his lap and pushes himself into Kyoutani before sliding away, down to the floor, he rolls to face Kyoutani then sinks forward over him, chest sliding along his thighs. He pushes himself up, sinking down over him and rocking against him again.

Kyoutani felt his face turn red. There was no way Cobra didn’t know how affected he was, but he didn’t seem to care. It was easier, in a way, to have Cobra facing away from him. He didn’t have to worry about where to look and he could let himself relax a little more. Cobra makes eye contact from over his shoulder and Kyoutani can only hope he doesn’t look as helpless as he feels. He watches, wide-eyed as Cobra’s head tips back and he lets out a breathy sort of sigh. Every rock of his hips makes Kyoutani lose his mind just a little bit more. Cobra turns and faces him again, and Kyoutani clenches his hands a little harder.   
  
Numai can feel the heat with how close they are. His body doesn’t stop moving and as the beat of the music starts to slow, so does the motion of his hips. He’s close to Kyoutani, close enough that each sway of his hips brushes their bodies together. When the music stops, he slides from Kyoutani and tugs his shorts back on, trying to ignore the call of warmth that rests with Kyoutani. He takes the money from the drawer, shoving it under his waistband and even when he dips to grab his shirt, it’s still like he’s on show. "The smaller stages at the side of the room, they’re not as closely watched by the bouncers. If you’d like to see me dance more, you’d be able to tuck the money in," He pats his waist. "Like this." He’s not even sure what compelled him to tell Kyoutani that, maybe because seeing his hands balled up urges him to grab them and settle them on his chest. "You should take a breather first. You can stay in here, two minutes tops."

Kyoutani can’t help but feel a little disappointed when Cobra moves off of his lap. Two songs never felt so short. He sits forward, willing his blush to fade. Cobra’s voice makes him look up, caught a little off guard as he attempts to school his face back to its usual scowl. Kyoutani nods shortly. It’s an advertisement of sorts, he assumes. Tell customers they can slip money into your shorts and they’ll be more likely to tip you. Still, Kyoutani finds himself wishing it were something more. "Thanks." He says, relaxing his hands to stuff them in his pockets. "You’re, uh, really good at that."

"Sure," Numai smiles. He’s aching to say something more, something brewing but he doesn’t know how to place it. He doesn’t know how to speak it. "Thank you. If I wasn’t good at it, I wouldn’t be working here." The words feel dirty on his tongue and he stops at the door. "When you leave, take the glass back with you. I’ll be out there. You won’t want to miss it." He winks then slides from the room. He goes back to change and Suna gives him a worried look, handing over a bottle of water. Christ, Numai must look wrecked. He takes a gulp then puts his money away in his safe and changes into something a lot more revealing before heading out to climb one of the smaller stages.

It’s funny, Kyoutani has spent the last seven minutes watching Cobra grind on his lap in nothing more than a white thong, and yet his smile sends Kyoutani’s heart racing. He nods, watching Cobra slip back through the curtain. It only takes him a few seconds to tuck himself discreetly into the waistband of his boxers, and he heads back to the main room. The music is louder there. Drunk customers stumble out in front of Kyoutani, and he shuffles by. He glances over to the booth where he left Iwaizumi and Oikawa, finding them absorbed in a conversation that looked entirely too flirty. The song shifts, and Kyoutani looks out at the stages, scanning for Cobra’s dyed-blonde undercut. For a second, he doesn’t see him. The lights in the club are low and the crowds cluster around the main stage. There’s a gap, in between the main stage and the far wall, and that’s where Kyoutani spots him. He spares another glance at the table and heads over. 

The crowd is thinner over on this side, and Kyoutani is able to get close to the edge of the stage. His mouth runs dry when he sees what Cobra has changed into. Sheer mesh fabric leaves little to the imagination and Kyoutani tries, once again, to find somewhere to look.

Numai had been watching the crowd while he danced, and seeing familiar hair makes him smirk. He blows a kiss, and it  _ might _ just look like it’s for the crowd, but tonight it’s only for Kyoutani. He tries to tell himself that it’s just a bonus since it’s Kyoutani’s birthday, but it doesn’t feel like it’s related to that at all. He lets himself slide down the pole, landing on his knees and arching back, body rocking in time with the beat. He grabs a fresh bottle of water, out of sight from the customers then pulls up to his knees again, the cap comes off quickly, and he tips his head back, pouring it into his mouth so it overflows and slides over his body.

Once it’s empty, he chucks it into the crowd, swallowing the bit leftover in his mouth. He runs his hands over himself, following the motion of the water, then smooths his fingers through his hair. Numai slides around, so his back is toward the crowd, he pulls himself forward using the pole and grinds up against it, his ass swaying. He could imagine himself here, a strong body pressed against him—familiarity in the muscles, warmth that’s purely... _ Kyoutani _ .

He takes a breath and lies back again, pushing himself to the edge, eyes fluttering sweetly as men lean over to tuck yen into his waistband. Numai returns upright and spins around, his thumbs toying with the waistband of the revealing briefs. He leans over, smoothing his hand over a shoulder. He goes back to the pole, tapping his hands quickly into the small bowl of powder before stretching up as high as he can and lifting himself away from the stage.

Seeing Cobra on the pole this close was an experience Kyoutani doesn’t think he’d ever be ready for. It’s different than the private dance or watching from across the room. Kyoutani feels his heart clench when Cobra blows a kiss and he lets himself believe, just for a moment, that it’s for him. One second Cobra is on the pole, the next second he’s on his knees, letting water trail from his mouth and flow down the line of his neck and drip off of his abs. Kyoutani follows the movement with his eyes, watching as Cobra runs his hands through his hair. Every movement hits with the beat of the music, hot and intoxicating. Kyoutani leans forward, careful not to brush against Cobra’s skin as he slips money into the elastic of his briefs. Clubs have never been Kyoutani’s thing. They’re loud, have too many people and inevitably bad music, but for once he thinks he might finally get it. It’s fun to let loose, to buy into the fantasy that someone like Cobra might give him a second look. Kyoutani watches the flex in Cobra’s arms as he climbs the pole. He makes it look easy, and Kyoutani can’t help but wonder just how strong Cobra is.   
  
Numai swings and dances around the pole with practised ease. He climbs up, holding himself steady with his thighs and dropping backwards, body arching. He grips the pole, so he’s hung upside down, hair falling away from his face, he drops his tongue out over his lips, licking them seductively. He swings himself around, holding tight to let his legs fall away, holding steady before dropping to the stage. He hooks one leg around, spinning again while his other leg lies parallel to the pole, his head tipping backwards and his body swaying to the music.

The song changes when he drops to the stage again and he slides to the floor, moving through the men, his hips swaying, hands wandering. He’s rewarded with more money. Kyoutani looks stuck in his seat and Numai slides over, his hands resting on Kyoutani’s shoulder as he drops down in front of him, eyes unmoving from his face. He leans over, sliding his right leg along like he might straddle Kyoutani again, but he doesn’t, his head dips to Kyoutani’s ear and he whispers, "You’re still covered in my glitter. It looks good." He slides away, fingers ghosting and he slides through the crowd again, yelping when someone pinches his ass. Numai grabs his wrist. "Hey, get the fuck out!"   


It’s impossible to look away when Cobra slips off of the stage and makes his way through the crowd. Kyoutani watches the sway of his hips like he’s hypnotized, breathing shallow. It isn’t until Cobra is halfway there that he realizes he’s the destination, and his eyes go wide, his lips part in surprise. Cobra leans close and even though he doesn’t straddle Kyoutani again, he desperately wants him to. Warm breath meets Kyoutani’s ear and he shivers. Everything feels surreal, and he finds himself staring after Cobra as he walks away. Every millimeter of skin that Cobra touched burns, searing the memory of his hands into Kyoutani’s mind. 

And then in an instant the haze is gone and a hand is grabbing at Cobra’s ass. A flip switches inside of Kyoutani and he stands, pushing through to reach where Cobra has the man’s wrist caught in his grasp. It's a mousey looking guy, balding, with a thin frame that Kyoutani could snap if he wanted to. And Kyoutani  _ does  _ want to. "Don’t fucking touch him." It’s a thought turned growl, low and deep from Kyoutani’s chest. He balls up his fist and slams it into the man's temple, feeling a little satisfied when he crumples to the ground at his feet.

The man’s hand falls from Numai’s grasp and he swears softly as the crowd scatters, he leans down to check his pulse and sighs when he realises everything is fine. "Cobra, is there a problem here?" He hops up, looking to the bouncer then back down to his feet. "What happened?"   
  
"He grabbed my ass." Numai steps up to the bouncer, putting space between him and Kyoutani. "I hit him. I’ll talk to the boss now." The bouncer grumbles but doesn’t argue, he picks the man up and once they’re out of sight, Numai grabs Kyoutani by his arm. "What the fuck did you do that for? The bouncers are here to keep us safe, and I can look after myself, you shouldn’t have done that," He drops Kyoutani’s arm, swearing again. "You should go to your friends and get out of here before they figure out what happened. I need to go talk to my boss."

"I couldn’t just sit there and let him—" Kyoutani cuts himself off. He didn’t think, he just reacted, and now Cobra probably thinks he’s the kind of person to jump in and solve every problem with his fists. Shame and regret sit in his stomach like hot coals. "You lied," The thought goes through his mind and out his mouth, alcohol has long since deteriorated any filter between the two. "Why did you cover for me? Won’t you get in trouble?"

"It’s fine, don’t worry about it, I’ll be okay. I can deal with it." Numai touches Kyoutani’s shoulder, it’s completely different from the way he grabbed him moments ago. "Please, you need to get out of here. They won’t let you back if they find out—" And there’s a hundred implications behind those words. If Kyoutani can’t come back, they won’t see each other again, Numai won’t be able to get him alone. "I’m sorry," He almost touches Kyoutani’s cheek with a soft brush of fingers, but his hand falls short and he steps away. "I need to go." He hovers there for an extra minute but sets his jaw firm and turns to walk away. He knows he’s going to be in for a beating from the boss—though he can’t find it in himself to care, because he’s helping Kyoutani out. It’s worth it.   
  
Kyoutani stands there as Cobra leaves, he can’t bring himself to move. Iwaizumi and Oikawa find him there, most of the crowd has dissipated and he sticks out like a sore thumb. Iwaizumi puts a hand on Kyoutani’s shoulder and for a second he can pretend that it’s Cobra’s hand instead. It’s silly, he thinks, to be this captured by a guy he paid for a lap dance. None of it is real. Kyoutani shakes his head, shrugging Iwaizumi off. "I’m going back to the dorm." He leaves them standing there, passing by a few shocked onlookers as he makes his way to the exit. 

It’s a long walk to the train station, and Kyoutani replays everything in his head on a loop. He can’t help the uneasy feeling in his stomach. Cobra was begging him to leave. Something Kyoutani couldn’t quite place was written on his face as he turned to speak with his boss. He doesn’t remember the train ride back or climbing the three flights of stairs to get to his dorm until he’s sinking into his bed, with the beginnings of what might just be the worst hangover of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

If exams weren't killing Numai, he'd still be tucked in bed, not having a late-night study session with Sakishima. Nothing feels like it's sinking in and his body still aches, the marks hidden under long sleeves. He finally calls it a night and drags Sakishima back to their dorm. "This is such a pain. I'm exhausted. How are you still so  _ bouncy _ ?"   
  
"I drink a lot of coffee." Numai makes a face at Sakishima's answer and pushes him down the hallway. "Alright! I can walk just fine."    
  
Numai grunts. "Then keep moving slow-ass. You're making me late for a meeting with my bed." Numai doesn't miss Sakishima muttering  _ what's up your ass _ , but he ignores it and trudges onward.   
  
It’s been nearly a week since the night at the club and Kyoutani hasn’t stopped thinking about it. Iwaizumi called, asked what had happened, and then told Kyoutani that he was an idiot for stepping in when the bouncer was right there. Oikawa sent him a text saying he was a knight in shining armor. He walks to the laundry room, carrying a full laundry basket despite the pain in his right hand. There are voices coming from around the corner, none that Kyoutani can place. He turns, and finds himself frozen. Dyed-blond undercut, piercings, suddenly the voice sounds very familiar, for the sole reason that it’s been playing in Kyoutani’s head for the last few days. "Cobra?" He says before he can think.   
  
Numai hates coincidences, if he could find a way to pretend he doesn’t live here, he’d leave. But he’s still wearing his lab coat, the name tag hanging from his pocket. He looks to the voice—to Kyoutani, who is carrying a basket full of laundry, it's not hard to figure out that he lives here too…In the same  _ dorm _ , Sakishima makes a noise from behind him and Numai swears he dies. He ignores it, ignores Kyoutani like he has no idea what's going on and he reaches to grab Sakishima. "Come  _ on _ , Sakki!"   
  
Sakishima stumbles over himself, he looks at the guy who called out and then back to Numai. "What the hell? Numa, did he just call you-"   
  
"No! I don't know what's going on." Numai quickly makes it past, with Sakishima in tow, every part of his body is telling him to stop, to talk to Kyoutani. But he can’t, and he doesn’t.    
  
"Hey! He's pretty hot,  _ and cute _ . Numa, he's your perfect type."   
  
"Shut  _ up _ ! I hate you." Numai lets go of Sakishima and storms off to the stairwell. "I’m going to bed!"   
  
"Wait up." Sakishima takes one glance back and then hurries after Numai.   
  
It’s stupid.  _ Kyoutani _ is stupid, of course the dancer from the club won’t spare him a second glance. He watches the panicked expression form on Cobra’s face, and he almost apologizes. There’s a flash of deep purple as Cobra grabs for his friend. It blooms over the skin of his arm like a fresh bruise and for a moment Kyoutani wonders if it’s just the shadows playing tricks on him. He doesn’t get the chance for a second look. Just as quickly as they were there, they left. Kyoutani stands there for a moment, watching the spot they disappeared to like it’ll give him answers. It doesn’t. The only answer he has is a name. Numai. Cobra’s name is Numai.   
  
Numai hadn’t ever expected to explain  _ Cobra _ to his friends. But Sakishima doesn’t shut up about it, and Daishou drags him into their shared dorm room. They don’t even judge him, like he thinks they should, even when he explains to Sakishima that Kyoutani is someone from the club. "You like him though, it’s different."   
  
"It was just a dance. It’s my job."   
  
"Dude!" Daishou hops up, glaring at him. "He punched someone for you, you protected him. Isn’t it obvious enough that it’s mutual?"   
  
Numai groans, falling into the couch. "What the fuck am I going to do?"   
  
"Try talking to him maybe. It’s not like you have much to hide if he’s seen you naked."   
  
"I wasn’t naked! And you can hardly talk, when you won’t—" A hand slams over his mouth and Sakishima hisses at him. Daishou looks at them, clearly confused and Numai pushes Sakishima’s hand away. "Fine! Jesus, Sakki, you’re rough."   
  
"Kinky." This time, Sakishima flings himself at Daishou and Numai laughs from his place on the couch, snorting at his friends. He’s so glad he has people like this around him.  
  


* * *

  
Two nights later Kyoutani finds himself slipping quietly from his dorm, careful not to wake his roommate, and sneaking off to the club once more. Is it a bad idea? Yes. Will Numai even talk to him? Probably not, but he wants to try regardless. The club is quiet in comparison to how it had been a week ago. Most people don’t choose Monday night as their day to live it up at a strip club. Kyoutani scans the stage, but sees no sign of Numai anywhere. Disappointment settles in his stomach. Maybe he was backstage or in a private room, or maybe Kyoutani was just that unlucky. He turns to leave when a flash of messy blond curls catch his eye.    
  
There are only a few other people at the bar. Kyoutani takes a seat at the far corner, away from both the stage and the other customers. Numai is talking with them, pouring drinks as they watch the dancers on stage. From this angle, Kyoutani can’t see enough of his arms to see if the mark really was a bruise. He glances at the cocktail menu to give himself something to do while Numai works with the other customers.   
  
Numai takes everything in his stride, smiling and joking, pretending he doesn't wish he was on that stage too. It might be far from conventional, but he loves his job, he wouldn't be here if he didn't enjoy it. He moves along when the customers filter towards the tables near the stage and he pulls on a fresh smile, not really looking at the person. "What can I get you? There are no dances at the bar." It's been something he always has to clarify, a few men tonight have already asked and he's had to recommend someone else. So they can still get their fill.    
  
"I don’t care about dances." Kyoutani tries and fails to not sound a little frustrated. He sets down the menu, and looks at Numai. "Look, I’m sure you get your fair share of creeps here, so if you want me to go just tell me to fuck off and you’ll never see me again. But I just wanted to say I’m sorry, I guess." It sounds a lot more stupid out loud, and Kyoutani bounces his leg to give himself something else to focus on.    
  
"Kyoutani," Numai tugs his sleeves as Kyoutani speaks. He shakes his head then pours a glass of water and passes it over. "You have to buy something to be here, just slide me something. You don’t have to drink it, but make it look like you are. I don’t really understand too much why you’re apologising but it’s fine. No harm done."   
  
Kyoutani takes some money from his wallet and slides it across the bar. "I punched a guy. Even if you didn’t get in trouble for it, I still made a mess of things." He takes the glass and sips at it. "And I shouldn’t have called you Cobra in front of that guy." In a matter of a few days Kyoutani has crashed through Numai’s life like a bull in a china shop, throwing both his work and his personal life into chaos. He frowns, watching the way Numai’s sleeve rides up as he takes the money. "I saw those marks the other night too." There’s a sinking feeling in Kyoutani’s stomach and he hopes he’s wrong, that they aren’t bruises. Maybe Numai just has a tattoo, one that he can somehow cover with makeup while he’s working. "What happened?" It’s none of his business, in fact, it’s probably rude to ask, but Kyoutani does it anyway.    
  
"Sakishima was fine, he did keep berating me until I gave in and told them what was going on. But it’s not the end of the world, he’s like that with everyone and they didn’t even care what I did, that I work here. Though I did get a sinking feeling that Suguru’s about to start throwing his money around. It’s nothing I can’t handle, I’ve known those guys for a long time, I’m used to it." Numai glances down, he catches sight of the bruises and to anyone on the outside, they look worse than what they feel. He unbuttons the cuff and slides the sleeve up. "It was an accident, I’m fine. They look bad but it’s nothing really," Even what he’s wearing currently is strategically placed, a nice button-up shirt and even though most of the buttons over his chest aren’t fastened, nothing can be seen past the top of his abs anyway. "Don’t worry yourself too much."   
  
Ice runs through Kyoutani’s veins, a knee-jerk reaction born through experience rather than instinct. It’s a lie. Accidents may happen, but they sure as fuck don’t look like that. "That’s a hell of an accident." Kyoutani fixes Numai with a pointed stare and raises an eyebrow. "Wanna tell me what really happened?" There’s no heat to it, no demand, just an offer to listen. Someone hurt Numai, and Kyoutani has a million guesses as to who. He shouldn’t care this much, shouldn’t be this invested in what goes on with a complete stranger, but he can’t force himself to sit by and do nothing.   
  
Numai fixes his sleeve, holding back a sigh. He glances around then makes himself look busy by cleaning the bar. "It’s just to keep us in line. One whip. That’s it, that should only ever be it." He wishes he could pour himself a drink right now, he feels like he needs it. It had been a half-assed lie anyway, a child could have probably seen through it too. "He blew the roof when he heard I hit that guy. But it’s fine, I promise I’m okay now. That guy was fine anyway, he came back and he got a few free dances out of it, so he never even said I was lying. I think he’d figure it would have been a bit of a different story if he said another customer hit him."   
  
Something in Kyoutani breaks. He stands quickly, every line in his body tense. "Where is he?" It’s impossible to find Numai’s boss in the crowd, especially considering Kyoutani doesn’t have a clue what he looks like, but he searches the faces anyway. "I’m going to fucking kill him." Kyoutani isn’t sure how much of an exaggeration that is, but sitting by and doing nothing isn’t an option anymore.    
  
"No!" Numai reaches over to Kyoutani, grabbing him and pulling him back to the chair. "Don’t go doing something stupid like that." He takes a look at the bouncers, thankfully, the one at the door isn’t facing them and the two on the main floor are dealing with a drunk customer trying to get his hands on Suna. He pulls away once it looks like Kyoutani isn’t going to move further away. "It wasn’t a big deal, just chill out a little." His eyes travel down the side of the stage, to where Suna vanishes behind the curtain and he rubs his hand over his arm, his touch gently so he doesn’t end up aggravating the bruises. "I have four months before I graduate and then I can get out of here. I can get as far away from him as possible. Tokyo has never really agreed with me anyway. Please sit down, you’re making me nervous."   
  
Kyoutani turns, catching the flash of fear on Numai’s face. It’s enough to snap him back to attention. He slides back onto the barstool, tipping his head back and swallowing his glass of water in one sip. He didn’t come here to drink, but he could use something a little bit stronger right about now. The glass thunks solidly against the bar as he sets it down. Kyoutani swears under his breath, staring into his empty cup. "Sorry." He mutters. For a moment he doesn’t say anything, he’s lost in the hedge maze of his own thoughts. Kyoutani reaches out to touch Numai’s arm but he stops halfway.  _ Keep your hands to yourself _ . His voice goes soft, barely more than a whisper above the loud music. "Can I?"    
  
Numai takes the glass away and replaces it with a smaller one, he almost spills the whiskey when Kyoutani asks to touch him. He should say no, he’s supposed to say no. But he doesn’t want to. He puts the bottle back and holds his hand out for the money. "Something stronger." He pauses, with his arm over the bar and drops his elbow to rest against the surface, reaching with his other hand to pop open the cuff again. "Sure, it doesn’t really hurt now anyway." Though, he doesn’t feel the need to tell Kyoutani to be careful, to be gentle. There’s nothing saying that he’s going to be harsh right now. "Make it quick though." Numai checks the bouncers, they’re not watching the bar, but it doesn’t mean they won’t turn their attention if needed.   
  
"Thanks." Kyoutani says, handing over enough for his drink. All at once it feels like Kyoutani is six again, scared and powerless. He tries to keep his hand from shaking as he brushes his fingers over the skin of Numai’s arm. It doesn’t work. It’s a feather-light touch but Kyoutani can still feel the warmth of Numai’s skin. After a second, he pulls away. Kyoutani’s vision blurs and he rubs angrily at his eyes. "This is all my fault." There’s an edge to Kyoutani’s voice, a raw sort of something that he can’t help but despise. He looks up at Numai, feeling smaller than he ever has before. It wasn’t him who put the bruises on Numai’s arm, but it might as well have been. And for what? For stepping in when he should have stayed put? His hand falls to the counter, balled into a tight fist.   
  
"Kyoutani," Numai’s voice is soft, he slides his hand over Kyoutani’s and squeezes gently. "Look at me, I’m perfectly fine. I knew what I was doing when I lied, this isn’t on you at all. Please don’t ever think that." He slowly pulls his hand away and fixes his sleeve. He slides the money into the register. "Try not to worry about me. This is my job, I like it. I might not like  _ him _ , but that doesn’t matter to me. The bruises don’t matter. They’ll fade and I can dance again."   
  
A large part of Kyoutani wants to argue that they do matter, that it was stupid to cover it all up like that, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. He takes a moment to search Numai’s face. There’s no regret there. Kyoutani presses his lips into a small frown and takes a sip from his drink. It burns a little, but the warm feeling eases the tension in his muscles just a little bit. "Is that why you’re not up there tonight?" Kyoutani inclines his head to the stage.   
  
"Yeah. I’m not a very useful stripper if I can’t take my clothes off." The words tumble out before Numai can stop them and he makes an apologetic face. "The boss said that no-one wants to look at someone beaten up. It doesn’t even hurt that he did it, or that he’s stopping me from going out there and enjoying myself." Numai sighs softly, gently clicking his tongue piercing against his teeth for a moment. "It hurts the most because he’s right. While I have bruises," He looks over to the crowd, Shiomi is on the stage putting on a great show. "I don’t belong up there. Who’d wanna see it anyway?"   
  
"It might not hurt now, but if you push yourself too hard it won’t help anybody." Kyoutani tries to think about how much effort it takes to swing around the pole, and how painful it would be to do it in Numai’s state. He grimaces. From the look of Numai’s arm alone, it’s bad, worse than Kyoutani has seen in a long time. "Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise." Kyoutani swirls his drink in the bottom of his glass for a second. It’s an awful sort of feeling, one that Kyoutani knows well. "I used to play volleyball when I was a kid, I got injured a lot. It always sucked to be benched, but sometimes you need it to recover." He shrugs, "It’s not the same as this, I guess, but..."   
  
"Yeah, maybe. I miss it though, I like dancing." Numai listens to Kyoutani, perking up when he hears  _ volleyball _ . "No way, really? Were you on a team? I played too! All the way through to high school. I got injured though, it was the last match I played...After that things weren’t the same, I couldn’t recover properly. I took up dancing as a hobby, to keep busy since volleyball was out of the question, and I threw myself into studying medicine because I’ve always wanted to be a doctor." It’s surprisingly easy to talk to Kyoutani. Numai finds himself opening up without any real reason to. The little voice in the back of his head says the same thing:  _ you’re a stripper, he just wants to see you dance _ . It drowns out Daishou’s affirmation that things might be mutual, as if Kyoutani would ever care beyond the club walls.   
  
Kyoutani smiles, and it’s wide and genuine. He blames it on volleyball, but he knows Numai played a part too. "Yeah, I was on Aoba Johsai. Vice-captain during my third year. Helping the first years is half the reason I’m going to be a teacher." He sips at his drink, savoring it, because if there’s still alcohol in his glass then technically he still has a reason to be here. There’s a passing thought, a tiny ‘what if’ and Kyoutani can’t help but ask "What team were you on?" It feels too personal to ask, almost, and Kyoutani hopes Numai won’t think he’s a creep for wanting to know.  _ You’re just a customer to him _ , Kyoutani reminds himself, before he can start to believe that they’re something more.   
  
"I don’t remember them, I don’t think I ever played against them while I was at school. It’s really good that it helped you find what you love too." Numai reaches to grab the bottle, holding it up. "You want a top-up?" He still has a job to do and Kyoutani isn’t just going to sit here all night. "Nohebi," He grins, pride swelling. "We made it to nationals twice while I was there, we only didn’t make it in my third year. I was vice-captain too, and ace." He tries not to dwell on those days too much though, because when it really counted, all he could do was sit by. Even if the team never regretted a moment of it, Daishou had said so and Kuguri too, he’d always wished he could have done more. He dispels those thoughts and smiles. "Are you a year younger than me?" It slips out before Numai can stop it and hangs there, a little pathetically.   
  
"Sure." Kyoutani holds up his glass so Numai can fill it. It’s a little disappointing that they never played each other, and he can’t exactly place why. "Nohebi must’ve been good, we never made it to nationals. If it wasn’t Shiratorizawa kicking our ass, it was Karasuno." He pouts, still a little sore from losing even though it’s years later. It doesn’t weigh on him now, like it used to. Kyoutani has more important goals to focus on now. The music changes to some overplayed pop song, but he doesn’t spare a glance over his shoulder to look at the stage. Frankly, he could care less about who’s dancing. Kyoutani shrugs, "I donno." He says over the music. The question catches him off guard, but it’s another personal one, the sort of thing Kyoutani doesn’t think Numai would ask all of his customers. "How old are you?"   
  
Numai fills the glass and puts the bottle back. "Well we had our asses kicked by Itatchiyama and Nekoma enough, so I know how that feels." He chuckles, it’s not as hard as he thought, maybe he should bring this up with Sakishima and Daishou. "Well, I told you I’m going to graduate soon, med students take a whole four years to finish." It’s admitting more too, how long he’s been here, how he was here before he hit twenty. "You just had your birthday, didn’t you? I was twenty-two in August."   
  
Four years. Kyoutani can’t imagine working at a place like this for that long. Or maybe it would be more accurate to phrase it, he can’t imagine working under a man like Numai’s boss for that long. Except he  _ can _ , and he has, so that’s not exactly right either. Maybe  _ can’t _ and  _ doesn’t want to _ are two entirely different things. "I just turned twenty-one, so yeah, I guess you are a year older." After a moment Kyoutani realizes that he could add honorifics on the end of Numai’s name, but somehow calling him Cobra-san just seems ridiculous.   
  
Numai’s attention has been on Kyoutani since they started talking, and it’s funny just how many emotions run across his face. Considering his features are always hard and it looks like he’s frowning, he’s beautiful. Numai wants to touch him, but not like he’s just giving a lap dance, he wants to hold him there. He wants to capture this moment forever. He can’t, it’ll fizzle away in the back of his head like a quiet calling. A part of him that’s already hooked on Kyoutani. It’s stupid. "Yeah, seems that way."   
  
"Hey, you! Come and make me a drink." Numai sighs softly, he pulls on a smile and walks over to serve the man at the bar, flicking his hands away when he reaches over to try and touch his chest. "Come on, don’t be a prude. You’re not one of the sluts up there," He waves his arm toward the stage. "It doesn’t matter if I touch you."   
  
At this moment, dealing with this behaviour, the only thing Numai can think about is protecting Kyoutani, stopping him from stepping over to be a good samaritan. "Alright, I’m cutting you off." Numai turns him away and waves over one of the bouncers, who happily drags him to the exit. "Fucking hell." He mutters softly then returns to Kyoutani’s place at the bar. “Sorry you had to see that."   
  
It feels lonely at the bar when Numai leaves. They’ve been lucky so far, it’s been quiet, the bouncers hadn’t seen when Numai let Kyoutani touch his arm. He watches the way Numai’s lips turn up into a smile. Somehow it manages to look entirely different than the one Kyoutani had seen a few minutes ago. A hand reaches over the bar and Kyoutani goes rigid. He wants to do something, anything, to level the playing field. This time, however, he doesn’t move from his seat. "Don’t apologize for him." Kyoutani can’t hide the anger in his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Kyoutani can see the man being thrown from the club. He takes a deep breath. "For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a slut for dancing, Numai." The name slips out and Kyoutani turns red. Fuck. There isn’t a lot Kyoutani knows for sure about working at a place like this, but he assumes that work life and personal life were two very different things. He stumbles over himself. "Shit, I mean, Cobra ...san."   
  
Numai isn’t surprised by Kyoutani’s anger, he’d already seen it in closer proximity. He wishes he could care for those customers, but the way Kyoutani defends him makes his heart lift. Then it crashes all at once with one name. "You...Know my name. How’d you-?" He doesn’t remember letting it slip, and Sakishima called him by his nickname like usual, there was no-way Kyoutani could have heard it. "Y-yeah," Numai stumbles too, still surprised by hearing his name from Kyoutani’s lips. But it’s nice, he wants to keep hearing it. "Not in here, it’s just Cobra. You can’t let anyone else who works here know that you know my name, or even my age. It’s all a fantasy in here, if the customer wants to call us sluts, that’s up to them. Just none of our real-life here."   
  
"It was on your name tag." Kyoutani rushes to explain without sounding like he’s on the wrong side of interested. "I just, sort of remembered it." He runs his hand over the back of his neck. "Fuck, that sounds bad. I’ll—uh, try and forget it." Memory doesn’t work that way, Kyoutani knows that much, but if Numai doesn’t want him to know his name, he’ll do his best to pretend he doesn’t. There’s an awkward pause and Kyoutani takes a drink. "It just pisses me off that people treat you like that." He looks over his shoulder for half a second, catching a flash of the silver-haired man on stage. "All of you guys."    
  
"Right," Numai remembers their chance meeting in the hallway of their dorm building, how he’d still been wearing his lab coat. It’s sweet that Kyoutani remembered his name, not just the one he uses on the stage. "It’s fine, I don’t mind you knowing. If we were to bump into each other again, I’d feel a little awkward if you called Cobra. It’s the name I use here so I can put it aside from my personal life." Numai looks over too, Izuru is dancing perfectly and his throat feels a little tight when he looks back to Kyoutani. "Yeah, it annoys me too. But I get paid, so how can I complain?" He sighs softly, leaning against the bar just a touch. "You can go sit over there you know, if you wanna watch. It’s probably not much fun sitting here all night. If you want to get used to this place, you should start with Kit, he’s good."   
  
Dancing, private rooms, none of it was what Kyoutani came here for. He shakes his head, turning back to Numai. "Not tonight." It would feel wrong, somehow, to get a dance from someone else. Maybe he’s a little naive, entertaining this idea that Numai could see him as something more than a customer, but he can’t find it within himself to care. He wants to get to know Numai, not Cobra. To learn what his favorite things are and what sort of food he likes. Kyoutani grins, a little lopsided. "Believe it or not, I like it here better."   
  
Numai snorts, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. "It’d be pretty hard to believe," Though not right now, Kyoutani looks sincere and there’s no sign of pity in his words, nothing showing that there’s a chance that he’s only doing this because he feels sorry for Numai. "I believe you though." Numai could have thought that over a hundred different ways and it couldn’t possibly sound less gay in his head. "I’m not saying you can’t stay here. The customer’s always right. So if you want to sit here, drinking and talking with me, I don’t mind."   
  
Kyoutani’s heart sinks a little at the word customer, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. Doubt grows in his mind like a parasite, slowly at first and then all at once. Kyoutani has never been good with these sorts of things, words, people,  _ communication _ . All the bullshit social formalities get in the way of people saying what they want. "I—" He stops, looks down at his empty cup, and changes his mind. "Can I switch over to water? I have to get home at some point and it’s a bitch to ride the train drunk."    
  
Numai wonders for a moment what else Kyoutani was going to say. He nods at him and switches out the whiskey glass for a regular one, quickly filling it up. "How early do you need to be back at the dorm?" Maybe it’s prying, he is curious though, because if Kyoutani doesn’t need to be up early tomorrow morning, maybe they could spend just a little more time together. Numai’s been enjoying himself here, he’s worked the bar before and had to deal with drunk men falling all over him; this though, it’s the most fun he’s had at the club in a long time. He glances at his watch, if he were dancing tonight, he wouldn’t be finished for hours. It’s different tonight. "I get off in an hour." And he’s not even sure what he’s suggesting with that, there are a hundred different implications.   
  
It’s already late, far past the time Kyoutani would normally be asleep. He’s got an early lecture tomorrow, but somehow he finds himself saying, "I’ve got time." Clubs have never been Kyoutani’s scene. Loud music, overpriced drinks and drunk men looking for a hookup, plague them like a disease. Somehow, though, Numai makes it bearable. "I could walk back with you, if you want." It’s a stupid thing to offer. There’s no reality where Kyoutani can imagine Numai would say yes, and yet he still finds himself hopeful. He takes the water glass and drinks. It’s been nice, sitting at the bar, learning little things about Numai. Kyoutani savors every second of it and somehow, still, he wants to talk with him more.    
  
"I can’t be seen leaving with you," Numai sighs. He wishes that all of this was more normal, that he could walk out of here with Kyoutani at his side. "But let's say, if you happened to be waiting at the train station and I ran into you there, then it wouldn’t matter. No-one but us would know." A secret. It’s exciting, sharing something from this club in private with Kyoutani. "Of course, that would just depend on if you’re going to be there in an hour when I finish, and we’d be heading back the same way. Just a coincidence," Numai smiles. "Right?"   
  
Kyoutani’s heart thumps in his chest and he finds himself smiling too. It would have been easy for Numai to say no, to tell Kyoutani that it was against the rules, but he didn’t. Maybe it means something. Maybe it means that Numai wants this too. The idea of meeting Numai at the train station is exhilarating. "Yeah, a coincidence." It would be nice to be able to just leave together, but somehow, knowing that Numai would go through the trouble of planning coincidences with him is just as good.   
  
Numai keeps himself busy at the bar, chatting with Kyoutani when he can. Kyoutani leaves five minutes before Numai finishes. He happily hands the bar over to Akuta when he turns up and bids goodbye, leaving quietly out the back, pulling on his coat and hurrying to his car. He drives down to the station and it’s far enough that no-one from the club would bother to follow him. He pulls up and pokes his head out the window. "Hey, jump in. We’re going the same way aren’t we?" It’s crazy how he can’t stop smiling around Kyoutani.   
  
The chilly December air sends a shiver down Kyoutani’s spine. He bounces on his toes to stay warm while he waits for Numai to end his shift. For one horrible moment, he wonders if Numai isn’t coming. Snow falls gently through the night sky, slow and peaceful. It catches on his eyelashes and lands on his phone screen as he checks the time. A car pulls up next to him and he turns. "Numai?" Kyoutani can’t help but be grateful for the cold. The wind has painted his nose and cheeks a light shade of pink, one that hides the blush that settles on his face. Numai’s smile makes Kyoutani feel a little weak at the knees, and he tries to memorize its shape. He opens the door and slides in. "Hey." Kyoutani feels a little breathless, and he tells himself it’s just from the cold.   
  
"Hey there. Cold, isn’t it?" Numai reaches over and turns the heat up a little more. "It’s definitely a lot warmer in here, you’ll feel it soon." He waits and watches Kyoutani buckle up then starts heading back towards the dorms once he’s ready. Numai pushes his glasses up and when they stop at a red light, he looks to Kyoutani. "Do you have class early tomorrow?"   
  
Kyoutani warms his hands in front of the air vent, glancing over just in time to catch the flash of red as Numai adjusts his glasses. His throat goes dry. "Early-ish," It’s a non-answer, but Kyoutani can’t think enough to come up with something better. He thinks back to the first time he went to the club. Numai was a whole different person then. He’s still the same now, in a way. He’s just  _ more _ . "You, uh, wear glasses." Kyoutani’s face heats up the second the words leave his mouth, and this time he can’t blame it on the cold. "They look good on you."   
  
"Oh yeah, I need them for driving mostly, sometimes studying. I’ve had them forever." Numai finds himself a little flustered from the compliment, the light turns green and he continues driving. "Thanks. It’s sorta my own fault that I have to wear them though. Iko and I used to stay up stupidly late watching TV on the weekends, dark room with only one bright light. She and I actually have a matching pair, not these ones. I could show you one time though, I’m pretty sure I have a picture. But, you have to  _ promise _ not to make fun of me, I looked a lot different when I was younger." He’s blabbering, Kyoutani probably won’t care about seeing an old photo, he probably won’t want to hang out beyond the club. This drive back is just convenient. "I wouldn’t wear them in school, and now I don’t have a choice. I’m glad you like them."   
  
"Yeah?" Kyoutani relaxes against the car seat. It’s late enough now that the light comes mostly from neon signs and the orange glow of the street lights. It paints Numai’s face in a wash of bright pinks, purples, and blues. "I’d like to see that." Kyoutani could listen to Numai talk forever, about anything, just because he likes the sound of Numai’s voice. "Who’s Iko?" He asks as if they’re friends, maybe they are. He certainly wants them to be.   
  
"Oh, right, I’m used to talking to people who already know, sorry. Keiko, she’s my little sister. We’ve always been close. She’s sixteen now. It’s a little crazy, she’s growing up too quickly." He turns a corner, into the street where the dorm building is. He feels a little disappointed that they’re almost back so soon and he has no idea how he can drag this moment out for longer. He pulls into his usual spot and kills the engine, he pulls his seat-belt free then puts his glasses away. "Seems it’s already time to call it a night. Will you be at the club again?"   
  
It feels like a trick question. If Kyoutani says yes, will Numai think he’s only coming to watch his coworkers dance? He undoes his seatbelt, and pauses with his hand on the door handle. "Maybe." Getting up for class in the morning is going to suck, but Kyoutani doesn’t want to go just yet. "When’s your next shift?" He’s making it too obvious now, and he hopes Numai doesn’t read into it. There are a hundred things that question could mean, but all Kyoutani knows is that he wants to see Numai again. If that means paying a 2000 yen cover fee and buying a few drinks, Kyoutani will do it happily.   
  
"I’m working at the bar all this week." Numai’s not sure if he should say it like that. It’s Kyoutani’s choice if he wants to return, if he wants to go to the other dancers. It’s none of his business, and even though he gave a suggestion, he never wants Kyoutani to see anyone else at the club. He reaches for his door and opens it but doesn’t climb out of the car yet, he looks back over at Kyoutani, whose fingers are touching the door handle. "It probably just seems like my job to say it, but you should come back. It’d be painfully boring tending the bar without company." With that, and before he can begin to let himself get embarrassed over it, he climbs out, closing the door behind him.   
  
Kyoutani pulls open the door and falls into step next to Numai as they walk through the dorm lobby. "I believe you." And maybe he shouldn’t, but he does. They take the stairs, and Kyoutani finds himself walking slower and slower until they get to his floor. "It was nice talking with you tonight." He stops at the door, not ready to go quite yet. "I’ll see you soon?" It comes out as a question, but he means it. He’ll be back at the club as soon as his schedule lets him. There’s something more that he wants to say, sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite figure out what it is. Instead, he tries a smile and turns for the door.   
  
Numai hovers there, smiling softly. "Yeah, I had a really good night. I liked talking with you too." Somehow the moment feels soft and Numai doesn’t want to let it go. "I’ll see you soon." He confirms, voice firm. He only turns to the stairs as Kyoutani opens the door, it doesn’t feel good walking away from it, like this might all be a dream and when he wakes up, Kyoutani will have changed his mind.  
  
Kyoutani goes back to the club three days later. Finals had eaten away most of his time and energy, leaving him an exhausted shell. Lucky for him, he finished early. It’s another slow night, and he slides quietly into his seat at the far end of the bar, waiting for Numai to notice him. He shifts a little in his seat, adjusting the beanie on his head. Iwaizumi had come over to help him decide on what to wear. For some god forsaken reason tonight feels important, and Kyoutani wanted to look the part. His knee bounces a little as he watches Numai mix a drink, and for a moment he wonders why anyone would look at the main stage when the real show is right here. Numai walks over to him. "Hey," The long earrings Iwaizumi picked out brush his neck as he looks up. "How are you?"    
  
Numai got far too worried about Kyoutani not returning to the club, that the other night had just been a phantom. So when he sees him at the bar again and hears his voice, his heart flutters and a smile eases onto his face. Kyoutani looks good, in his beanie, the earrings hanging down. "Hi," He replies, a little lamely and absolutely breathless. "I’m good. How are you doing?" Maybe it’s silly, to enjoy this so much, because it’s only his job and this is a strip club. Kyoutani is bound to get bored of sitting there drinking all night. "What can I get you?"   
  
"Now that I’m done with exams? Great." Kyoutani’s lips curve up slightly. The loud music doesn’t even bother him anymore, he hardly hears it. What he does catch, however, is the way Numai’s voice goes a little soft. Kyoutani feels the tips of his ears get a little red. "Surprise me." He doesn’t care about what he drinks or who’s on stage. Just talking to Numai is enough. He’ll never get tired of being around him.   
  
"Yeah, exams are kicking my ass too." Numai chuckles. When Kyoutani asks for a surprise, he grabs the mixer, pouring in the raspberry liqueur, the triple sec then dropping in two raspberries and a little lime juice. He slides a glass onto a napkin and begins mixing. "I didn’t know you had piercings too." He nods his head towards Kyoutani’s ears. He filters the drink into the glass, adding a slice of lime to the rim and a single raspberry to the glass, topping it off with some lemonade. "Here you go, it’s my favourite drink."   
  
A part of Kyoutani dies as he watches Numai make his drink. The fabric of his button-up looks soft, hanging loosely on his shoulders. Numai has the top few buttons undone, the deep red of his shirt parting to show off his chest. It shifts a little as he mixes the drink, and Kyoutani can see more of Numai’s collar bone. Numai’s arms tense as he shakes up the mixer, and Kyoutani finds himself watching the way his muscles move under the fabric. He’s fairly sure that Numai’s the kind of person who would look good doing anything. Oh, Kyoutani is totally fucked. He blinks, reaching up to feel his earrings as if he’s forgotten they’re there. "Yeah, I just have the two. Oikawa tells me I dress like a toddler though, so I don’t normally wear them." Fashion is not Kyoutani’s strong suit, he’s had more than enough cases of mixing stripes with plaid to learn that. He takes the drink and tries a sip. It’s sweet and tart, but not so much that he can’t taste the alcohol. Kyoutani glances up at Numai and grins. "This is fuckin delicious. What’s it called?"   
  
"A toddler?" Numai snorts, shaking his head. "Well, you don’t look like a toddler to me. I like the earrings, they really suit you." He wants to reach out and touch the earrings, or maybe he just wants to touch Kyoutani again, follow the shell of his ear down to his neck. Numai smiles at the question, he grabs the menu and points to the drink. "It’s this one here, if you wanted to know what’s in it. Or if you ever want to order it again." None of their drink names are typical, but maybe picking the one called  _ wanna be yours _ was a little far from subtle.   
  
"Thanks." Kyoutani’s face goes a little red, either from the compliment or the name of his drink. For a second he stares at the menu, pretending to read the description printed under it. In reality, he’s imagining what those words would sound like if Numai was the one saying them.  _ Wanna be yours _ . It’s all a fantasy though, Numai would never say that. This is his job, Kyoutani reminds himself, just because Numai finds him more enjoyable than some of his customers, doesn’t mean he wants anything more. He clears his throat, taking another sip of the drink. "So, uh," There’s a moment where Kyoutani scrambles for something to say that isn’t incredibly stupid. "How many exams do you have left?"   
  
"Three more before winter break. I wish I could just eat a textbook, it’s hard to find time to study with work and classes. I’m sorta lucky that Sakki’s dorm is across the hall, we study together in what little free time I get." Numai sighs softly. Still, he wouldn’t trade anything for it, he likes the job even though he hates his boss, and he really wants to be a doctor, all the studying will be worth it to get that title. "I don’t even want to think about anything after winter break yet, it’s going to kill me. What about you?" It seems a little funny to be talking about university while he’s at work, it’s not exactly the normal conversation that arises—if any does at all.   
  
Exams, thankfully, are a decidedly un-sexy topic. Kyoutani relaxes a little. It feels more normal like this, like instead of talking over a bar at a strip club, they’re studying at the library. "I had three of mine on Tuesday, and the last two yesterday." Kyoutani groans at the memory. Waking up Tuesday morning, exhausted from his late night at the club. It was a stupid choice to have stayed late, but Kyoutani wouldn’t have changed it for the world. "It’s practically break for me already." Although if Kyoutani is being honest, he misses the distraction that studying gave him. He’d finally had an excuse to avoid his dorm room, and by proxy, his strange roommate. "I’m sure you’ll do fine." Kyoutani leans forward, resting his cheek on his palm. "If you had your textbook here, I’d offer to quiz you." It slips out before Kyoutani can really think about it, and it’s  _ almost _ an invitation to study together, but not quite.   
  
"I can't wait to be finished and relax for the holiday." Numai smiles, he thinks that Kyoutani is quite lucky to be done for a while. Normally he might be a little jealous of it, but nothing feels harsh with Kyoutani. He might look rough, nothing else about him gives Numai that impression though. "I'm not allowed my books in here, I have to work and  _ he _ sees it as a distraction. But I've been scribbling down some notes back here, it's nicely out of sight." He slides a napkin over, neat writing covering various notes. "I just sorta look at them for a little while and usually customers keep me busy enough that I can repeat things over in my head." What sounds like an offer for studying only makes Numai’s chest swell, a flutter tickling away like a small fire. "I wouldn't mind the help though, if you want to."   
  
Kyoutani stares at the napkin, scanning the careful handwriting. Most of the words are large, they look European in origin, and he has to squint a little while he sounds them out in his head.  _ Stratified epithelium. _ No way in hell is Kyoutani going to attempt to say that one. He glances up at Numai and takes a sip of his drink. "Fuck, I’m stressed just looking at this." It hits him, maybe for the first time, how hard Numai must work. Long hours at the club bleed into longer hours studying. Kyoutani can’t help but wonder how Numai has time to sleep. His eyes flick back down to the napkin and he finds a word that seems easy enough to pronounce. "So, doctor, tell me about parapinfluza viruses."    
  
"It’s a lot of work, but I love it. After winter my residency starts at the hospital, and I’ll have more work to do than just what’s written on a napkin. It’ll be actual real people." Numai chuckles at the faces Kyoutani makes as he reads over his notes. "Sorry if my writing isn’t the best." Then it looks like Kyoutani has made a decision and he starts talking again, the title of doctor makes his insides flip, it sounds much better coming from Kyoutani. "I’m not a doctor yet, don’t call me that." It’s not harsh, more light-hearted then he bursts out laughing at Kyoutani’s pronunciation, soft snorts making him turn away for a moment to take a breath. "Parainfluenza? It’s full name is human parainfluenza virus, or HPIV, it causes upper and lower respiratory illnesses mostly in infants, young children and people with weakened immune systems. But anyone can get it."   
  
Heat rises to Kyoutani’s face and he’s sure he must be red. Numai is laughing at him, but somehow it doesn’t feel like such a bad thing. "Parainfluenza." He repeats, stretching out the syllables and testing the word out for himself. "I was close enough." Kyoutani pouts, going over the list of words. Whether or not Numai is right with his answer, he has no idea, but he sounds sure of himself. "Your handwriting is nice, by the way. Don’t worry about it." Kyoutani chews at his lip as he tries to find a term that’s equal parts pronounceable and challenging. "Vasovagal syncope?" He says it slowly this time, trying to get it right.   
  
"You’re doing just fine saying things too," Numai smiles softly. "I can understand what you mean, it doesn’t have to be perfect. Oh! That’s a good one, occurs when someone faints because the body overreacts to certain triggers, sometimes it’s called neurocardiogenic syncope. It causes heart rate and blood pressure to drop suddenly. Which leads to reduced blood flow to the brain, causing someone to briefly lose consciousness." He leans against the bar a little, relaxing even though this should be the last place he feels so comfortable in. "You’re a really good study partner, way better than Sakki."  _ and cuter _ , Numai leaves unsaid, the words fluttering through his head.   
  
"Yeah?" Kyoutani glances up, and before he can remind himself that Numai is only talking with him because it’s his job, he says, "We could study together, sometime, if you want." And he doesn’t mean study here, like this, huddled over the bar and writing notes on napkins. They could  _ really _ study, in the library, and Kyoutani could stop by a coffee shop on the way to get drinks for the two of them. It’s a stupid thought and he looks down, picking out the first words that he sees. "What’s, uh, multiple sclerosis?" He fucks up the pronunciation again, he knows it without Numai even telling him just because it doesn’t sound right.   
  
"I mean it. I swear he only uses it as a gossip session," Numai shakes his head. "As long as it’s not here, I’d prefer somewhere quieter and somewhere I can actually have my books." He can’t help but laugh again at Kyoutani’s attempt, but it’s not that he’s making fun of Kyoutani, it’s just too damn… " _ Adorable _ ."  **Oh fuck** , he recoils backwards automatically, covering his mouth with his hand. Did he really say that out loud? "Uh, sorry. Multiple sclerosis, it’s also known as MS and it’s an autoimmune disease where the immune system starts attacking the coating around the nerves, which can cause problems with movement, sensations, vision and balance."   
  
_ Adorable _ . Kyoutani snaps his head up, searching Numai’s eyes for… something. Anything. Warmth grows in his chest and if he thought his face was red before he must look like a rather flustered plum by now. He almost says something, but he can only think of the cheesy one-liners Oikawa tends to use to get free drinks. In an instant, the moment passes and Numai’s using words long enough to make his head spin. Or maybe it’s Numai himself that makes Kyoutani dizzy, it’s hard to tell. "No, not here. There’s this corner of the library— near the back, sort of. I usually study there." It’s more of a statement, but he means it as an offer. Kyoutani finishes his drink and slides from the barstool. "I’ll be right back." He tilts his head in the direction of the bathrooms.   
  
"That sounds good to me." Numai takes away the glass and hides the napkin with the others, out of sight, just in case someone else working in the club walks past. It’s the first time he gets to see Kyoutani fully, the bar having been in the way and he can feel his jaw drop, his eyes drifting over Kyoutani’s outfit and landing (for far too long) on his bare stomach.  _ Fuck _ , he looks good and Sakishima was right, he’s not only cute but he’s ridiculously hot too and all Numai can do is nod his head a few times. "A-alright, I’ll still be here."  _ Obviously _ . He’s an idiot. He turns around and busies himself with cleaning the glass, just so he stops himself from staring, or making a further idiot of himself.   
  
The bathrooms are empty and Kyoutani locks the door behind him, leaning on the wall for a second so he can catch his breath. Every time he’s around Numai time feels fucky, like it’s a slow-motion time-lapse. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes feel like hours. An evening goes by in the blink of an eye and yet somehow, somehow it feels like he’s known Numai for longer than just a few days. Kyoutani grips the edges of the sink and gives himself a once-over in the mirror. He looks a little pink, and if he presses a hand to his forehead he feels warm, like he’s got a fever or a bad sunburn. "Fuck." It’s hardly audible, just a release of breath in a word so familiar to Kyoutani’s tongue that it’s muscle memory. He runs the faucet, splashing some cold water on his face as if it’ll help. It shouldn’t be this difficult, Kyoutani thinks. He’s seen Numai in a thong so barely-there that it could hardly be called clothing, and yet the tiny slip of the word  _ adorable _ is enough to send him in a tailspin. After a moment Kyoutani straightens, ruffling his hair in the way the Iwaizumi told him looks attractively messy. He tugs at his outfit, preening like some sort of tropical bird.    
  
Kyoutani slips from the bathroom, certain that this time he’ll have his shit together. That he won’t be flustered by the way Numai snorts when he laughs or how his voice goes all soft when he’s being sincere. He’s only a few feet from the bar when a hand lands firmly in the center of his chest. Kyoutani tenses. "Hey there." The voice belongs to a man about Kyoutani’s age, dark hair swept to either side of his face. Kit, Kyoutani thinks. He remembers Numai recommending him the other night. "You look like you want something a little more," Kit pauses, eyes shifting into something between alluring and analytical. "Personal."   
  
Numai spends far too long washing glasses and putting them back into place, that by the time he turns around, he expects to see Kyoutani back on the barstool, waiting to talk again. He’s not. Instead, he’s a short distance away, Suna’s talking to him and Numai knows the job, he knows how Suna works—one soft touch, sweet words and a flutter of lashes. It’s to make men follow him into a private room. Now he’s using it on Kyoutani; Numai’s hands curl into fists, his stomach dropping. He should have prepared himself better for this.  _ Hell _ , he’s the one who told Kyoutani to go to Suna. But it still hurts and he repeats the words in his head: Kyoutani is a customer, no-one goes to a strip club looking for a chat with the guy at the bar. He pulls his eyes away, down to the bar and he wipes it over even though it’s clean, then to his notes, though none of the words make sense, his eyes won’t focus on the letters, all he can see it:  _ Kyoutani is here for a reason, not to talk with you all night _ . It’s like Monday didn’t even matter either, it was a one-off, they got swept away in conversation, nothing more.   
  
"I’m good." Kyoutani steps back, far enough that Kit’s hand is no longer touching his chest. He moves to take his place at the bar, freezing when fingers brush his shoulder.    
  
"You don’t have to be nervous." Kit sounds gentle, inviting even. "It can’t be much fun sitting alone at the bar all night."   
  
Alone isn’t the word Kyoutani would use to describe his time with Numai but, looking at it from an outsider’s point of view, it makes enough sense. His jaw sets. "Look, I know you’re just doing your job, but I said I’m fine." Kyoutani shrugs off Kit’s touch and returns to the bar. There’s something different in the air now, and even though they’re not any farther apart there’s a sort of distance there. He leans forward a little, resting his elbows on the counter. "Cobra?" He says, but he thinks  _ Numai. _   
  
Numai, half lost in the realisation that there’s nothing else to whatever strange relationship he has to Kyoutani, it’s just the club, that’s the only thing keeping them talking. It takes him a moment to realise someone’s calling him, that  _ he’s _ Cobra inside these walls...That the voice sounds familiar. He’s a little scared to look up, but he does and he sees Suna’s already moved on to floating through the tables. He blinks, once then a second time, he’s probably gawking a little. A smile finds its way to his face though, bubbling large and bright, because Kyoutani came back. "Hey, what can I get you?"   
  
For a second, the look Numai has on his face is unreadable. It must be rather strange to have someone come to a strip club for something other than the stripping, and then for him to do it twice? Kyoutani almost thinks Numai will ask him about it. He doesn’t, and the smile that settles on Numai’s face is enough to make his heart skip a beat. It only takes a second to pick out a drink, Kyoutani is far from picky, and he lands squarely on an option before he even has time to think about the implications of the name. "Be mine?"   
  
Numai’s brain thoroughly short-circuits. "What?" Then he realises Kyoutani is looking at the menu and he almost swears, he nods quickly and starts putting the drink together. He pours in vodka, raspberry liqueur, marmalade, sage and honey then mixes it all together, pouring it into a glass, topped off with lemonade, a slice of lemon and sage leaves to the drink and a wedge of orange to the rim. "Here you go. I hope you enjoy it."   
  
“Thanks.” Kyoutani takes the drink. It’s good, really good, although he can’t imagine anything Numai makes would be bad. A moment passes and it feels like every word that pops into his head is a different shade of lame. “Sorry, I suck at conversation. We can go back to studying if you want.” Truth is, Kyoutani likes helping Numai study. There’s something casual about it, something that goes beyond the club’s rules. He likes hearing the way Numai laughs when he says a word wrong, and he hopes that maybe it’ll help Numai remember them later. It’s only an added bonus that he gets to listen to Numai’s voice as he rattles off definitions.   
  
“Great!” Numai’s natural smile falls onto his face. “Don’t worry about it, talking with you is some of the better conversations I get in here. People don’t tend to talk to the strippers for long, nothing much beyond  _ Can I get a dance? _ And even at the bar, it’s just people asking for drinks then they move on to watching the show.” He shrugs, it’s not as if he ever expects anything else, so having Kyoutani here,  **actually** talking with him, even if it’s to study, it’s refreshing and Numai wouldn’t want things any other way. He grabs a different napkin, some of the harder things he’s not sure he got down quite yet and slides it over. “Can we try these then? They’re a little harder so you might struggle with the words again.”   
  
Kyoutani doesn’t believe in fate, in little chance-happenings that supposedly mean something is meant to be, but he’s glad things have worked out like this. It’s funny to think about. If Oikawa hadn’t pushed him into a private dance he wouldn’t have spoken with Numai, wouldn’t have cared when he walked past him in the hallway. It’s better this way, here, helping Numai study while he’s working at the bar. Kyoutani pulls the napkin over. “Let's make a deal,” A grin, wide and teasing, spreads across Kyoutani’s face. “If you get the next one wrong, you have to take me home tonight.” Of course, he doesn’t mean to suggest anything beyond going back to their separate dorms and carrying on with their separate lives, but the implication is there regardless.    
  
Numai’s brain goes blank for a minute. There seems to be an unsaid implication to those words, though he knows it’s probably nothing. Kyoutani just means going back to the dorm together, parting in the stairwell like they did on Monday night, though somehow Numai feels like tonight just might be harder. Kyoutani’s grin spurs on one of his own though. “Oh?” He raises a brow. “That doesn’t seem like much of a punishment though, it sounds more like a reward to me. You sure you want me to get it correct?” The teasing is natural and Numai wonders if it’s because it seems more like they’re flirting like this. He doesn’t want it to be anything else.   
  
“You said these were harder,” Kyoutani shrugs, “I’m not taking my chances.” It’s light-hearted, bordering on the line between banter and flirting. This list seems loads more complicated, most of the words look impossible to pronounce, let alone define. He picks out one that catches his eye. “Believe it or not, riding back with you is a lot nicer than waiting for the train. You’re better company.” It’s true in a few different ways. The nightlife from the red light district tends to spill over to the station right before the train arrives, despite it being a good few blocks away. But the more important reason is that despite telling himself that all of this is a fantasy, Kyoutani likes spending time with Numai. As long as Numai will have him there, he’ll take every second he can get. “Ready?” He looks down at the neat handwriting and says, “Facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy.” Or at least he  _ tries _ to say it, but what ends up coming out of his mouth sounds like someone put the alphabet into a garbage disposal and called it a word.    
  
“I know, but you don’t make me want to get it right if going back with you is what I get for an incorrect answer.” Numai pokes his tongue out. He watches Kyoutani as he looks for something to pick and snorts softly when the words come out of his mouth, he really hopes it doesn’t come across like he’s making fun of Kyoutani. “Facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy or FSHD is a disorder associated with muscle weakness and wasting muscles. Its name comes from muscles that are affected, face, shoulder blades and upper arms. It’s also common for the legs muscles to be affected too but isn’t as commonly recognised. Symptoms for FSHD usually appear before age twenty, but it can begin in infancy or in older adults.”   
  
The way Numai says  _ Facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy _ might just be the most attractive thing in the entire club. Kyoutani pauses, his glass halfway to his lips, and he smiles. “Looks like you really know your shit, and I’m gonna be walking home tonight.” There’s nothing bitter in his voice, he’s glad Numai got it right. Or at least, Numai sounds confident where Kyoutani assumes he got it right. “All alone, in the cold. Who knows what’ll happen? Maybe I’ll catch a cold.” Kyoutani frowns, leaning his cheek against his palm. It probably looks a little ridiculous, and that’s half the point. “You weren’t even going to pretend you didn’t know it?”    
  
“It’d just be silly trying to pretend I had no idea. Besides, now you have to tell me what my prize is for getting the question right!” Numai tries not to laugh at Kyoutani’s behaviour. He glances over Kyoutani’s outfit at the mention of getting a cold and snorts. “If you were worried about catching a cold then maybe you shouldn’t have come out dressed like that, it  _ is _ December.”   
  
“I’m wearing a hat!” Kyoutani tugs his beanie down a little bit, as if to make it more obvious. He can feel Numai’s eyes on him, and suddenly he wonders if the outfit was a good idea. What if it doesn’t suit him? “Your prize?” He shifts gears, pausing to think for a moment. “I picked your punishment, so I guess you get to choose this one.”   
  
“So your ears are warm, that’s great. But you’re putting yourself at risk of chilblains. Basically it happens when the small blood vessels in your skin get inflamed after being exposed to cold and it doesn’t even need to be freezing outside. The clusters of capillary beds get red and itchy, or they swell up, so you need to keep an eye out for that.” Numai takes another look at Kyoutani. “You don’t look red yet though so that’s good. I know it looks good, but you still have to look after yourself.” He knows he’s admitting that Kyoutani looks good, but it doesn’t bother him at all. “Anyway. My prize? Well, I think you should wait at the station for me to come and pick you up and then when we get back, we could talk a little more. Sometimes it gets a bit much in here.”   
  
There’s a little bit of irony in how Numai says Kyoutani doesn’t look red yet, because a second later heat rushes to his face. “Doctor’s orders. Looks like I’ll have to wear turtlenecks from here on out.” He grumbles out, trying to seem like he’s got his shit together and  _ isn’t _ caught off guard. He sits up a little straighter when Numai mentions his prize. A spark of hope flickers somewhere behind his ribs. Maybe it’s mutual. He saves the thought for later, storing it with all the other little breadcrumbs Numai seems to have dropped. “I think I’d like that too.”   
  
“Great, it’s settled then.” Numai catches a flicker of movement to his right and he slides the napkin with his notes away from Kyoutani, hiding it back under the bar. He’s surprised to see Akuta back but he schools his expression, and smiles. “Hey Akuta, I thought you were off until tomorrow.”   
  
Akuta looks at Numai then at Kyoutani and back again. “Well something came up and the boss asked me in. He said that you’re free to leave for the night, Cobra. He wants to make sure you get some rest before you start dancing again.”   
  
“Yeah.” Not a word of it sounds true and he tucks his little notes into his pants. “I can leave.” Numai almost glances at Kyoutani, he really wants to, but instead, he walks to the end of the bar and Akuta meets him there, a stern look on his face as Numai opens the latch. “Thanks for taking over.” Akuta grunts, his eyes slide back to Kyoutani and it’s obvious he wants to say something else, something that he doesn’t want Kyoutani to hear and Numai’s jaw sets in place, waiting.   
  
Kyoutani takes the hint. He knows he’s just supposed to be another customer, that as long as they’re here Numai is on the clock. It was a stupid thing to forget. He tips his head back, downing the rest of his drink. Kyoutani digs in his pocket, fishing out a wad of cash that more than covers his drinks. As he slips from the barstool his steps falter. He almost turns, almost looks back at Numai, but he doesn’t want to risk getting him in trouble for a second time.    
  
“What the fuck are you doing?” Akuta hisses, pulling Numai from the bar and a little further to the side. “The boss said that guy was here on Monday too, just sat at the bar with you. Did you think he wouldn’t notice?”   
  
“I don’t pick what people do and don’t want to do here. I know he doesn’t trust me, you don’t have to tell me that, but I’m here to do my job and make money.”   
  
“Are you? Or are you too busy fucking that guy?”   
  
Numai is surprised by that, he brushes off Akuta’s hand and glares at him. “Are you really asking me that, or is it for him?” Though he doesn’t need to hear the answer to know which one it likely is. “I know my job. I know the rules too. Don’t go thinking that I’m stupid enough to get involved with a customer, or that I’d start fucking one. You can tell him that too. If you want. I’m leaving.” He pushes past Akuta, almost glancing back to see Kyoutani, he keeps his eyes away though and leaves through the back. He doesn’t care that the door slams behind him, and he’s not sure what he’s more frustrated by. The drive to the station doesn’t alleviate his feelings, he wonders what’s really eating away at him, it’s not all down to his boss getting into his business. It’s because he stopped seeing Kyoutani as a customer the moment he punched that guy, Akuta and his boss are off the mark, Kyoutani isn’t a customer to Numai. It’s much more, and it probably shouldn’t be, Kyoutani has to be going to the club for some reason, not just boring conversations.   
  
Kyoutani really shouldn’t have hesitated. He should have kept walking and met Numai at the station blissfully unaware of it all. But he didn’t. Maybe it would have been easier that way, to play the part of the jolly fool in his own personal soap opera. Just a customer. Numai had called him adorable, but he didn’t mean it in the way Kyoutani wants him to. Puppies are adorable, same with kittens. For fuck’s sake, even the cartoony looking chicken on the wrapper of his favorite take-out is adorable, but he wouldn’t consider it fuckable. Wind seems to push the door shut as Kyoutani tries to leave the club, and he feels like an idiot for struggling to get it open. It’s like the storybook fantasy he’s cooked up in his head is having a final go at trapping him in. He pulls the hood of his coat low over his head as he steps out of the club, bracing himself against the frigid air.    
  
There are two different types of winter in the city. The first is gentle. Snow floats through the sky, settling down in a blanket of pillowy white. At night, Kyoutani can look up and pretend the snowflakes are like stars against the light-polluted sky. It gets quiet on those sorts of days. Peaceful, almost, and sometimes it feels like Kyoutani is living in a snow globe that someone’s come along and shaken up. The second type, however, is an entirely different beast. Wind funnels through the breaks in buildings and alleyways, biting at every inch of exposed skin. It’s on these days that the snow seems like less of a pristine white and more of a grey-brown. Car exhaust and steam from the sewers collect on it, staining to a muddy color. The soft blanket covering the city turns to slush on the side of the road, or is marred by a maze of hurried footsteps.    
  
It isn’t until Kyoutani decides to take the long way to the train station that he notices that it’s the sort of winter night that makes him feel hollow inside, instead of warm. His breath fogs up in clouds as he walks. For some reason Kyoutani decided it was a good idea to leave his coat unzipped when he left the club, it looked cooler that way, but now that he’s outside it’s far too cold for him to dig his hands out of his pockets and fix it. So what if his capillaries swell or get red and itchy. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, letting the hood fall further over his face. It’s not like he gives a fuck anyway.   
  
Numai sits in the warmth of his car, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, praying that Kyoutani will show up soon. It shouldn’t take him this long to walk from the club to the station. He’s scared, he’s never been this scared since he was fifteen. But he’s not a scared teenager, worried about how his family are going to react to him coming out. This is something else entirely, it feels like a storm brewing. He’s scared because he doesn’t want to stop it, he wants it to flow over him, he wants to stand in the eye of it. Because it’s Kyoutani, Numai wants Kyoutani to wash him away from this place, somewhere it’s safe for them both, a shelter. Somewhere that Numai can talk about the feelings that are making his chest ache.   
  
Anywhere that isn’t back in that club, being watched by too many eyes, being only a stripper and a customer. A place where Numai can hold a private moment between them, where everything is  _ more _ . Maybe Numai can find out what’s behind Kyoutani’s tough exterior, he could find out if their flirting at the bar was anything near real. He wants it to be. He doesn’t want to chase a fantasy.   
  
By the time Kyoutani gets to the train station, he expects Numai to be long gone. His usual line had come and gone, and it was the only one that went straight back to campus this late at night. He sighs, disappointed in himself more than anything. Numai was doing his job, and he’s damn good at it. It just so happens that Kyoutani ended up being the one to want more. His shoulders slump, and he pulls his phone from his pocket to see how many transfers he’ll have to make to get back home. There’s no need to look at where he’s going, nobody is out this late anyway, and Kyoutani doesn’t glance up until he hears the purr of an engine a few feet in front of him. It’s a familiar car, the too blue headlights casting shadows on the far side of the terminal. Kyoutani stops, sliding his phone back into his coat. That’s Numai’s car.   
  
Numai has been checking for Kyoutani for far too long and when he finally sees him, his heart flutters. It feels like he might be returning home after being away for the longest time....Like Kyoutani is his home and it brings all the warmth of curling under blankets. He rolls his window down and pokes his head out. “Kyoutani, jump in quickly.” Then he ducks back in and leans over to pop open the passenger door. It’s an open invite, and Numai just hopes that Kyoutani will take it. Not because this was supposed to be his prize, but because he  _ wants to _ . Kyoutani could turn it down, Numai doesn’t even want to think about that but there’s always a chance of that happening, that Kyoutani will just walk into the station to wait for a train.   
  
There’s a second where Kyoutani hesitates. He could cut himself off from whatever addiction he has to Numai, could walk away before it’s too late. He knows there will be a point in the future, maybe not too far off from right now, where Numai will have to explain that it’s all an act. That  _ Cobra _ and  _ Numai _ are two very different people. Kyoutani thinks that Numai is sincere though, he always has. Ever since the moment at the club where he could have taken all of his money, but didn’t. So, instead of walking away and consequently out of Numai’s life, he turns and ducks into the passenger seat. “I thought I missed you.” Kyoutani’s voice is flat and he reaches up to pull his hood back.    
  
“I waited.” Numai replies simply. He waits for Kyoutani to buckle up then starts driving, the further away from the club the better. “I’m sorry,” Though he isn’t sure Kyoutani heard what he said back at the club, he feels like he needs to apologise for it, because he’d been lying again. “I don’t know if I’ll be okay the next time I go back to the club. Akuta and Mizutani think we’re sleeping together, I had to say something to get them off my back. I’m sorry, I wish it didn’t have to be like this. There are only a few more months...Then it won’t matter what they think of me, or of us. I’ll be free.”   
  
“Yeah, I heard.” It’s hard not to sound a little hurt, it’s not about him, but Kyoutani can’t help it. Something about being just a customer makes him feel dirty, as if he only sees Numai as a stripper, as Cobra, instead of someone more. And then he stops, rewinds a little bit, and thinks about what Numai said again. Kyoutani feels a little sick and he looks over, watching the pattern of the streetlights as they reflect off Numai’s glasses. His brows pinch together. “Numai, if they—“ The words die in his throat and he can’t finish it. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head a little. “Not again.  _ Fuck _ . I—I’ll stop coming to the club, if you want.” Kyoutani tries not to dwell on what Numai means by  _ us _ , of the implications that there’s anything at all between them.    
  
“Shit.” Numai groans softly. “You know I didn’t mean it, don’t you? I’m not sure if you’d call us friends,”  _ but it’s a step in the right direction _ , “I wasn’t just saying I enjoy your company so you’d come back and spend your money and time there. Maybe things would be different if we first met outside of that place, but I can’t say, and I’m not sure I would change it. You make that club more bearable for me.” He could say more, he has more to say but he doesn’t want to scare Kyoutani away. It wasn’t a conventional meeting, and normally Numai wouldn’t talk to anyone outside the club if they were a customer. It’s proof enough to himself that it isn’t just about the club, it’s proof that Kyoutani isn’t just a customer. “Mizutani won’t do anything this soon, it’ll look too suspicious. I’m one of the favourites and the last thing he needs is people asking questions about why I’m still not dancing.” His hands tighten around the wheel at the mere mention of Kyoutani staying away from the club, because it is half of Numai’s life and there’s nothing he wants to go unseen by Kyoutani. “No, I don’t want you to stop coming to the club.”   
  
Kyoutani lets out a breath and slumps in his seat. “I trust you.” If Numai only wanted his money he’d have taken it a long time ago. Hell, it’s not even about the club, or money, or stripping. Not anymore. He trusts Numai because he likes spending time with him, and that alone is enough. “If you want me to keep coming, I will, but the last thing I want is for you to get hurt because of me. Again.” The past few evenings spent talking with Numai over the bar has made the club feel like a strange sort of home. Or maybe Numai just feels that way, it’s impossible to tell. If he has to give that up to keep Numai safe, he will, but he doesn’t want to. “I like,”  _ you _ . Kyoutani doesn’t say it, he can’t, not now. “talking to you, and even if it’s better for me to stay away I don’t want to lose that.”    
  
“I won’t get hurt. I wanted to step in before, you didn’t force me to, I knew what I’d face the second I said it.” Numai is soon pulling into his usual spot at the dormitory. He unbuckles and turns to Kyoutani. “I’ll be fine, he won’t do anything. Being there, being Cobra is part of me and I like talking to you, I enjoy spending time with you. I know my friends don’t judge me for what I do, but you’re the first person who I’ve met in there that actually seems to care. No-one’s ever cared to step in before, they turn away. That’s why I wanted to do something to help too.” He puts his glasses away, and almost reaches out for Kyoutani’s hand. He lets his hand fall back down and busies them with grabbing his keys, playing them between his fingers. “You don’t have to come back to the club if you don’t want to, I won’t force you. We can still meet up to study sometime.”   
  
Of course, Kyoutani cares. He always has. There isn’t a moment he can think of where Numai has been just a stripper. It would be impossible for him to turn away from Numai. He unbuckles his seat belt. “I want to go back. Trust me, I don’t make a habit of doing shit I don’t want to do.” Kyoutani’s eyes fall to Numai’s fingers and for a moment he wonders what it’d feel like to reach out and hold his hand. But they’re just friends, maybe, and that feels like too much to ask. “Besides, I already told you about my secret spot in the library, we have to go study now.” He shrugs, a grin setting on his face. Talking with Numai like this, honest and open, away from the complicated mess of the club, is cathartic in a way. He pulls open his door, but he doesn’t get out. Numai had said he wanted to talk a little more when they got back and Kyoutani isn’t entirely sure what that means.    
  
“Yeah, I really want to see that secret spot.” Numai opens his door and climbs out, waiting for Kyoutani to do the same. He locks up the car and smiles at Kyoutani. “Come on then, you owe me a reward, don’t you?” He leads Kyoutani inside and starts heading upstairs. “Well, only if you still want to come up. If it’s too late, I don’t mind postponing it.”   
  
“I guess I do.” Kyoutani tries not to let himself believe that Numai’s words are as flirty as they sound. They pass the door to Kyoutani’s floor and keep going. What will Numai’s room look like? Does he have roommates? Despite everything Kyoutani knows about him, there’s still so much he  _ doesn’t _ . “It’s not too late for me, but if you want to head to sleep early I wouldn’t blame you.”    
  
“I have plenty of time. My class tomorrow isn’t until afternoon. No backing out now,” Numai grins, leading Kyoutani down to his room. He glances over at Sakishima and Daishou’s door, expecting one of them to have a sixth sense where they’ll just jump out. He opens his door and walks in, flicking the light on and waiting for Kyoutani to walk in before closing it and sliding his shoes off. “Sorry if it’s a mess, I’ll just set the chairs up.” He grabs two of his folding chairs and puts them up around his small table. “Do you want anything to drink?”   
  
Kyoutani’s eyes go wide when he sees Numai’s room. It’s a single, a small kitchen to one side and a bed in the far corner. All around it, he can see tiny hints of Numai’s personality, hidden in the notes on his desk and the nick-nacks on his shelves. “The fuck,” Kyoutani breathes out, sliding his shoes off and settling into a chair. “You live alone? Lucky.” He grins over at Numai. “This isn’t messy at all.” It’s comfortable here, even though it’s their first time being somewhere outside of the club or Numai’s car. “Water would be nice, thanks.”   
  
“Yeah, I got a single room. It’s pretty nice.” Numai digs into the fridge and pulls out two bottles of water and a snack for himself. He takes a seat and motions for Kyoutani to sit down too. He tears into his snack and sighs happily when he takes a bite. “Tell me about yourself then. Do you have a roommate, what’s he like?”   
  
“He’s…” Kyoutani tries to think of a way to describe his roommate. “Weird. The other night I found him up gaming at four in the morning when I know for a fact he had an exam at eight.” It’s definitely not the strangest thing his roommate has done, in fact, Kyoutani is pretty sure the guy hissed when he turned on the lights this morning, but it’s the first thing he can think of. “He’s just got this look, where it’s like he sees into your fuckin’ soul and it’s creepy.”    
  
“I thought my hours were completely fucked but that’s definitely...Something different.” Numai chuckles softly, licking his lips when he’s finished eating. “I might not have an actual roommate, but Suguru and Sakki are pretty insufferable. Y’know when I told them what I did, Sakki said it’s a good idea for you and I to be friends, because I had nothing to hide since you’ve seen me naked.” He takes a gulp of his water and shakes his head. “I think he actually forgot that strippers don’t get completely naked. It was really weird to hear it like that too. I didn’t want to think that we had to be friends just because you’ve seen me at work…” He leaves the words floating in the air, like maybe the rest would come to him or that Kyoutani will add something so Numai knows for sure that their time outside the club isn’t just for convenience sake.   
  
Kyoutani nearly chokes on his water, “Not  _ naked _ .” He coughs, hoping that Numai assumes the heat rushing to his face is from lack of oxygen rather than embarrassment. The memory of the private room flashes in his mind and he shakes his head to get rid of it. “Even if I hadn’t met you there, I think we’d still be friends.” That’s what they are now, isn’t it? Friends. Kyoutani wants to be more, he wants Numai to want to be more, but for now, just friends is enough. It’s weird to think of the first time he saw Numai, or that he got a private dance from him. He doesn’t know if he could do that now. Soon, Numai will go back to dancing. Will he still want Kyoutani to visit the club then? Kyoutani isn’t sure he can handle that. “Your friends seem like they can be a handful.”    
  
“Shit, sorry!” Numai feels guilty for nearly making Kyoutani choke, he recovers quickly though and Numai relaxes a little. “I shouldn’t have just blurted that out, but that was pretty much my reaction to it too.” He chuckles, a little nervously rather than in response to something amusing. Of course, he’s leaving out the little part when Daishou said that there could be mutual feelings. Numai doesn’t want to get his hopes up like that. “Yeah, we’re friends,” He takes out his phone and slides it over. “Why don’t we trade numbers? Then we can still chat if we don’t have time to always hang out like this.” He sighs softly at the mention of how Sakishima and Daishou are a handful, nodding. “Yeah, they can be. But we’ve known each other for a long time. I met Suguru when we were twelve, and we met Sakki in high school, when we were fifteen.”   
  
Kyoutani pulls his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. Hopefully, although he’s not sure he’ll be that lucky, Oikawa won’t send him one of his bullshit texts while Numai puts in his number. “Good idea.” He passes his phone over, and then adds his contact to Numai’s. “That’s cool though, when you’ve known someone for that long it’s like they’re family.” Most of Kyoutani’s friends are more recent than that, but he can imagine how close people get over the years. He hands Numai’s phone back over to him. “Wait, didn’t you tell me you’d show me a photo of your old glasses the other night?”   
  
“I wouldn’t quite call them family, it’d make having dated Suguru just a little weird.” Numai puts his number into Kyoutani’s contact list and hands the phone back. “Oh god, you remembered that. You really like punishing me, don’t you?” The words leave his lips before he can think about them and he’s sure his face bursts into a flush, he gets up, going to his desk to grab the picture frame. He returns to Kyoutani with it in-hand and bounces his leg. “No laughing. No making fun of me either. And if you manage not to laugh, then I’ll actually put them on,” He points to his desk, where his glasses case is next to his laptop and books. “Here, it’s from when I was sixteen and Iko was ten.” He hands the picture frame over and takes another drink from his water bottle, preparing himself for Kyoutani’s reaction. His hair was shorter then, and freshly dyed, he had no piercings either.   
  
It shouldn’t have been all that surprising. Of course Numai has dated. Kyoutani just didn’t expect to hear he was still so close with his ex, or that they used given names. His heart wavers, sinking just a tiny bit, and then two seconds later Numai is handing him an old photo and it rubber bands up to his throat so fast he has whiplash. It’s amazing how different he looks. Rounder cheeks, lanky and a little awkward like all teenagers are. Next to him, Kyoutani assumes, is Keiko. She’s a good head shorter than Numai, her hair tied up in pigtails. They smile at the camera, and Kyoutani melts a little when he sees Numai had braces. Both of them sport round, thin-framed glasses. Kyoutani stares at the photo for a long time, longer than he probably should, but he can’t take his eyes away. Numai says something, but he doesn’t quite catch it. “Huh?” He looks up, “Sorry, what did you say?”   
  
Numai can’t help but laugh, he takes the picture frame and returns it to the spot on his desk, coming back to the table with his glasses case in-hand. “I said I got my braces out a year after the picture got taken.” He opens his glasses case and slides them onto his face. “My piercings came two years after that. What do you think then, could I pass for sixteen again with just these glasses?” He smiles resting his elbow on the table so his cheek can settle into his palm. “I also said that you should text me a picture of your schedule, so we can arrange a time to study together.”   
  
Just then, his room door swings open, Daishou strutting in as if he owns the whole place. “Numa, I left my book.” He walks to the desk, pulling a notebook free then spinning around. “Oh. I didn’t realise you had company, sorry for intruding.” He walks over, snorting softly at Numai and ruffling a hand through his hair. “Are you studying now?” He flicks a finger against Numai’s nose, then taps the frame of his glasses. “Shouldn’t you get some rest?”   
  
“I’m not tired,” Numai brushes away Daishou’s hand. “What’s your excuse?”   
  
“Suguru!” A voice squawks from the hallway. Daishou holds the notebook up with a grin, Sakishima walks in and grabs Daishou. “Stop interrupting Numa when he’s trying to have some alone time with his boo.”   
  
Just as quickly as they arrived, they’re gone, Numai’s door closing behind them. Like an unexpected whirlwind and Numai merely shakes his head after the two of them, his attention not remotely leaving Kyoutani. “You’ll get used to them, I promise.”   
  
Kyoutani stares after the closed door, trying to process everything that just happened. It only takes him a moment to decide that he doesn’t like  _ Suguru _ . There’s just something about him, something that reminds Kyoutani of the way Oikawa was back when they were in high school. It’s definitely  _ not _ because he’s jealous. And then there’s Sakishima, walking in and calling him Numai’s boo like they’re anything more than friends. He blinks, feeling like he imagines a computer does when it restarts. “Yeah.” He says, because he feels like he needs to say something. There’s an implication there, that he’ll be seeing them again at some point, that Numai wants him to like them, and it makes Kyoutani’s brain go in circles. “They look good on you, by the way. Your glasses.” Numai looks better than just good, but Kyoutani can’t find the words to describe it, so he has to settle. He opens up his phone, scrolling back through his photos until he finds the one he’s looking for. “Here, if we’re sharing high school pictures.” It’s an old photo, one from his first year, before he bleached his hair. In it, he’s asleep on the couch, and lying on his lap is a large dog.    
  
“Thanks! I’m glad you think so.” Numai grins, he slides them off and tucks them away into the case. Seeing the picture makes his heart melt and he’s sure he might have just said  _ aww _ out loud. It’s a little strange seeing Kyoutani with all-dark hair, though he does suit it and it makes Numai want to reach out, to touch the real Kyoutani holding the phone, to run his fingers over his hair. “What kind of dog is that? I’m terrible with breeds. It’s a really nice picture! You look very relaxed.”   
  
“She’s a rescue, so we don’t know what breed she is.” Kyoutani smiles. It was taken shortly after he moved, his first night at his new house, and coincidentally it’s his favorite picture on his phone. “Her name is Honey though, and she’s so fuckin smart. I taught her to open doors. My Dads just got a second dog too, but I haven’t seen him yet. Not until I go home for break.”    
  
“She’s beautiful.” Numai relaxes back into his chair, listening to Kyoutani talk about Honey, nodding and smiling. “You trained her a little? I bet that was a lot of fun, and I bet you’re looking forward to going home,” Then he realises what Kyoutani’s said and he jerks forward a little. “Did you just say _ dads _ ? That’s amazing! What about siblings, do you have any?”   
  
“Yeah, dads!” A grin stretches across Kyoutani’s face. “But no siblings, it’s just the three of us. It’ll be nice to visit though.” There’s a warm sort of feeling in Kyoutani’s chest. He takes a sip of his water and settles back in his chair. “What about you though? Are you going back to visit Keiko and the rest of your family?”    
  
“Keiko actually wanted to come here, but our mom is a little reluctant to let her come alone. I’ll probably just be here, taking more hours at the club.” Numai shrugs, he finishes his water then stands up and walks over to his wardrobe to grab a clean shirt and a pair of shorts. “I’m just gonna get changed real quick. You can stay here.” He walks into the bathroom, a door just to the left of where Kyoutani is sitting at the table. He quickly changes, unrolling the bandage around his torso. The bruises look a lot worse there than the ones on his arms and he grabs the bandages out of the cabinet. Numai measures them out and starts wrapping them, it gets a little hard for him to do it alone. “Fuck. Kyoutani, do you mind giving me a hand? I’m struggling a little…”   
  
Thinking of Numai here alone makes a small frown form on Kyoutani’s face. “You’re going to be alone?” He watches as Numai grabs a change of clothes and ducks into the bathroom. It’s quiet for a moment, and Kyoutani feels a little awkward sitting in someone else’s dorm when they aren’t in the room with him. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through a few texts from Oikawa and one from Iwaizumi. Numai’s voice makes him look up and in an instant, Kyoutani stands, crossing the room to hover at the door. There’s a strange pitch to it that sets him on edge. “Struggling?” It’s an echo. What Numai could possibly find that challenging, he doesn’t know.    
  
Just as Numai thinks he gets the hand of the bandage, it falls from his fingers and unwraps. “Shit. Yeah, I’m changing my bandage,” He walks to the door and pulls it up, not at all surprised to see Kyoutani standing so close. “Would you just help me with it?” He walks back to where he left the bandage on the counter and picks up the bandage, holding it out. “And yeah, I’ll probably be here alone over the winter, Sakki’s a little unsure if he’s going back, he’s trying his best to only spend time with Suguru when they’re in their room together and avoiding him outside of that. It’s silly.”   
  
Oh.  _ Oh _ . Kyoutani tries not to think too much about the fact that Numai’s standing in front of him wearing only his pajama shorts. He swallows thickly and takes the bandage. “Yeah,” It comes out a little shaky, more like a breath than a spoken word. The bruising looks so much worse than Kyoutani thought, and his jaw sets. “Would you, uh, mind turning around?” It’ll be easier to do without looking at him directly. He waits for a second as Numai turns, and then he takes a step forward so he’s close enough to reach. His hands move to wrap around Numai’s torso, but he stops, hovering there for a second to ask, “May I?” It’s not the club, and Kyoutani knows it. He knows he’s not a customer to Numai anymore, but the words fall out anyways.   
  
“Yeah, you can, I’ll hold one end down,” Numai does, using his fingertips so there’s barely any pressure on his torso. “It looks really bad, I know. But I didn’t have any internal bleeding or any bone fractures. It’s just the blood vessels closer to my skin, Sakki and Hiroo helped me look into it. You’ll probably meet Hiroo at some point too, he’s a med student like Sakki and I, we all went to Nohebi together. Takachiho was the only one from us third years that didn’t come to the same university. Is there anyone here from your high school?”   
  
Kyoutani wraps the bandage around Numai’s stomach. It’s a difficult balance to be gentle enough to not aggravate the bruises and firm enough to put a little bit of pressure on them, but he knows it well. Internal bleeding, fractures. He pales. Numai will insist that it’s nothing, though, so Kyoutani keeps his mouth shut. “Just two, I think. Iwaizumi-san and Oikawa. They were both on the volleyball team with me. I haven’t really kept up with anyone else. You’ve seen them, even if you don’t remember. They were the ones who took me out to the club for my birthday.”   
  
“Oh yeah, I remember. They uh, seemed close?” Numai watches Kyoutani through the mirror, and it almost looks like they’re  _ hugging _ . The thought makes him blush a little and he pulls his head back to somewhere safe. “Yeah, we were all on the same team. Suguru still plays. We don’t have time because classes and exams are a killer. Takachiho plays too, Suguru managed to get a friend of his to record a match that they played against each other, it was a little strange seeing them on opposing sides.” Once the bandage is finished, Numai runs a hand over it and turns around to face Kyoutani. “You’re really good at this. Are you sure you’re not secretly a med student?”   
  
It would be strange to play against a former teammate, Kyoutani thinks. Especially someone like Oikawa, he’s always unnerving on the court. “It sounds like a hell of a game.” They’re close, so close that Kyoutani could reach up and brush his hand against Numai’s face. He shrinks backwards to give Numai some room. “Not a med student,” Kyoutani laughs, “just an ex foster kid. We took care of ourselves a lot.” He turns, stepping out of the bathroom to give Numai some privacy.    
  
“It was intense.” Numai nods. He listens to Kyoutani, the cogs turning slowly in his head, why Kyoutani has been so sure that Numai was lying about the bruises…He swallows and tries not to think too much about the implications behind Kyoutani's words. Then Kyoutani is leaving the bathroom and Numai quickly pulls his tank top on then follows behind Kyoutani. “I—” He's not sure what he could possibly say, there's too much to think about and Numai can't focus on one thing. “I'm glad you trust me enough to tell me that. You could've left me none the wiser. Thank you.” Numai smiles softly. “I've never had to worry about stuff like that. Even after my dad walked out, we still had our mom there to look after us. I can't imagine what it was like in foster care, but I think you're really strong, you made it through.”   
  
Kyoutani plops back into his chair. “You asked.” It’s a joke, maybe more lighthearted than Numai expects. “I mean it sucked, sometimes. Some places were better than others. I met my dads just before high school, and I’ve lived with them ever since.” Some part him realizes he’s admitting more than what he says, that he doesn’t remember a time before, that he moved around a lot because he didn’t like to follow the rules. It feels safe though, talking to Numai. Truth be told it’s in the past now anyway. It’ll always affect him, but it’s nothing more than a ripple through a pond, getting weaker and weaker the farther it gets from the source. “I’m sorry about your dad though.” In many ways, Kyoutani thinks, it would probably hurt more to go from having two parents to having one.    
  
“I did ask, that didn’t mean you had to answer and you know I was only making a joke.” Numai smiles softly and waves off Kyoutani’s apology. “It's fine really, you don't need to apologise for him,” He takes his seat again, getting comfortable. “Sometimes the world is shitty like that. I know I'll have my mom and Iko looking out for me, my friends too. He doesn't deserve anything from me anymore.” He grins, feeling relaxed despite the choice of topic. “Thank you though, I really appreciate it. I'd actually kinda like to see his face if he found out where I'm working.” He can imagine it and he bets it'd be hilarious.   
  
The world can be shitty, Numai is right, but just for a moment, he thinks it might be alright. Somehow it’s easy to talk about these sorts of things with Numai. “Yeah? I bet it’d be a shock.” Kyoutani doesn’t know the specifics of Numai’s father, and he doesn’t particularly want to ask. It would be a surprise for most people though. “It’s good you have your mom and sister though, they both sound cool.”    
  
“If it was a shock enough for him that I’m gay, I’d imagine finding out that I work at a gay strip club would make him explode.” Numai snorts, chuckling softly. It’d certainly be a memorable sight. “They’re really great, though I definitely don’t plan on telling them what I do. I know they wouldn’t really care, but Iko’s still a baby and I’d rather her not find about it. She’d definitely never let me forget about it. She’s already got enough embarrassing material on me.”   
  
“No offence, but he sounds like an asshole.” Kyoutani isn’t particularly good with comforting people, and it’s hard to know exactly what to say. Words don’t come easy to him. He uncaps his water and tilts his head back to take a sip. “Some shit you don’t have to share.” Kyoutani shrugs. It would be a hell of a conversation to have. He grins at the mention of Keiko. “What kind of embarrassing material?”   
  
“Oh he is, I’ve already made amends with that.” Numai watches Kyoutani, his eyes following the motion of his Adam’s Apple as he swallows, he can’t help himself, the motion is addicting and he lets his eyes fall away when Kyoutani finishes drinking. “I definitely think my job is better off staying as my business. Oh? You want to know all of my embarrassing secrets?” Numai raises a brow, leaning against the table a little and smirking. He wonders how far he can take his flirting until Kyoutani finally realises what he’s doing.   
  
There’s a tone-shift, although Kyoutani can’t quite place why or when it happens. The way Numai’s lips turn up at the corners has his heart thumping in his chest. It’s just friendly teasing, Kyoutani tells himself, it’s the same sort of thing that Oikawa does on a near-daily basis. It doesn’t mean anything. “I— uh, I mean, not  _ all _ of them.” Kyoutani shifts under Numai’s gaze. He can’t help but wonder if Numai realizes the implication behind his words, the hint at  _ something _ in the way he says them.    
  
“I'll keep my secrets for now,” Numai winks. He relaxes back into the chair and yawns. “If you come back to the club, I'll trade you a secret. How does that sound?" He yawns again, covering his mouth with his hand. “Sorry, I guess this week is catching up with me.”   
  
Kyoutani glances at the clock and sees just how late it is. “Shit, yeah. I didn’t mean to keep you up this late.” It’s been a long day for both of them, but Numai still has exams to worry about. He stands. “I should go back to my room. I’ll text you my schedule, I guess.”   
  
Numai stands too. “Sorry, I’m usually still awake working at this time, I guess it keeps me pretty distracted from sleep.” He walks Kyoutani to the door, hovering a moment with his hand on the handle. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” He opens the door, glancing out to make sure that neither Daishou or Sakishima are snooping. “Goodnight Kyoutani. I’ll see you later, thanks for talking with me tonight.”   
  
“G’night,” Kyoutani slips on his shoes and steps into the hall. “See ya.” There’s a part of Kyoutani that misses talking to Numai already. He glances back over his shoulder as he makes his way down the hall, as if Numai will still be there. When Kyoutani gets back to his room the only light that’s on is the screen of his roommate’s laptop. It’s a harsh blue glow against the shadowy room. Somehow he can hear the muffled sound effects from the game despite his roommate’s headphones. He pulls out his phone, and before he goes to sleep he types out his schedule to send to Numai.   
  
Numai watches Kyoutani until he disappears into the stairwell. He trudges into his room and flops onto his bed, smiling to himself when he checks his phone and there’s a copy of Kyoutani’s schedule. He sends his own back then gets comfortable and falls asleep, far too happy for things to feel real.


	3. Chapter 3

Numai finds a gap in both of their schedules that works pretty well. It’s Friday, just after lunch and he’s waiting, as planned, for Kyoutani in the entrance of the library, occasionally distracting himself by checking his phone, mostly looking through social media. There’s a few suggestive messages from Daishou that he’s pointedly chosen to ignore and a few messages from Sakishima wishing him luck  _ on the date _ . Of course he wants it to mean something, but it’s only studying, it’s nothing extravagant, it’s not a date.   
  
Anxiety sits in Kyoutani’s stomach in a way that he’s never really felt before. He’s always been so sure of himself, of his actions. Every move has always been instinct rather than something he’s thought through. This is different though. Numai is different, and the last thing he wants to do is fuck it up. He checks his hair twice before he leaves his dorm, which is stupid because his hair is short enough that there’s nothing to do with it anyways, and then he makes his way to the library. Kyoutani spots Numai standing by the doors, head down so he can look at his phone. It sends electricity through Kyoutani’s nerves and he feels like he’s stuck a fork into an outlet of sorts. He adjusts his backpack on his shoulders. “Numai, hey.”  
  
Numai looks up from his phone, a smile already cracking onto his face. Just from hearing Kyoutani say  _ hey _ , “Hey.” He responds in kind and tucks his phone away into his jeans. “How are you?” He wonders if that’s too casual, but he wants things to be normal between them. There’s always a chance that Kyoutani doesn’t  _ quite _ feel the same, and the least Numai can hope is that they’ll end up as friends. “I’m ready to see this secret spot you told me about.”   
  
“This way.” Kyoutani grins, leading Numai to the stairwell. He shouldn’t be this excited to study, but somehow the prospect of being with Numai makes it worthwhile. “I’m good, my roommate gave me the weirdest look for coming back so late last night, I’d kill to know what he thinks.” Kyoutani laughs. To anyone else it must seem like he’s sneaking off to have a private rendezvous with some chick. Somehow, the truth is so much harder to believe. “You?” He tosses over his shoulder.   
  
They reach the second floor and Kyoutani leads Numai through the shelves to the older section of the library. The floor shifts from polished concrete to old hardwood floors that creek a little as they walk. The walls change too. Windows are replaced by dark oak and intricate trim. They stop at the very end of the rows, where the shelves clear and to the right are a few empty tables by a balcony that overlooks the floor below. It’s cozy up here, warmer because windows don’t pull away the heat. The shelves crowd the area in a way that makes it seem more like a blanket fort and less claustrophobic. Kyoutani steps aside a little so Numai can walk in. “Here it is.”  
  
“I'm doing fine. I definitely needed the sleep I had last night.” Numai follows Kyoutani, watching as the library transforms into a completely different place. It's like magic and he can't help but feel like Kyoutani is the one who cast the spell. Whatever it is, he doesn't want it to break, he could spend a lifetime here and it would be perfect. They reach the tables and Numai takes a better look around, dropping his bag into one of the chairs. “Wow. This is amazing.” He listens to the silence around them, a few muttered voices drifting upwards from the floor below. It's like a hidden paradise. Numai takes a seat and lets himself be swallowed further into the feeling. “I'm really glad that you brought me here.” He glances at Kyoutani, smiling softly.   
  
Kyoutani takes the seat next to Numai, sliding his backpack off and onto the table. “Glad you like it.” It’s impossible to hide the smile on his voice. There’s something satisfying about the look on Numai’s face, like he’s a little lost in it all. “I found it my first year here. Most people prefer the newer section, so people hardly make it this far back.” Kyoutani digs in his backpack for a second. In the two years that he’s been studying here, he’s only seen one other person: A short, stocky looking girl who took one look at him and decided to find a new spot. “Iwaizumi and Oikawa don’t even know about it, they’re too busy studying in their dorm room.” Although  _ studying _ might be a strong word for it.  
  
“It's really nice.” Numai shrugs off his coat then pulls his books out of his backpack and dumps them onto the table. There's something about the way Kyoutani says  _ Iwaizumi and Oikawa don't know _ that sounds a lot more like he might be saying  _ I've never shown anyone else _ . Numai tries not to think about it, tries not to look too much into it. Maybe if they hadn't agreed to studying, then Numai wouldn't know about it at all. “So they don't get a lot of studying done?” Numai snorts out a soft chuckle. “Sakki almost killed me for ditching him today, so he's stuck in his dorm with Suguru. I told him that he should be brave and confess.” He flicks through his book, finding the marked spot from where he left off last, he finds a fresh page in his notebook and pushes his textbook towards Kyoutani. “So when I'm studying with Sakki and Hiroo, we usually ask each other questions and write down what we think the answer is, then check the textbook to see if we got it right. Is that good for you?” He digs out his glasses case and quickly slides them onto his face. “I'm ready when you are.” Kyoutani takes the textbook, skimming through a few pages.  
  
Luckily, there are a few practice questions at the end of the chapter, so he doesn’t have to try and think of his own. He glances up only to catch Numai adjusting his glasses on his face. Fuck, this has to be some special form of torture. Sitting in the library, listening to Numai explain medical terms, hearing Numai laugh whenever Kyoutani says a word wrong, and on top of it all Numai is wearing glasses. “Yeah, that works.” He mumbles, and then he reads out the first question. While Numai writes down the answer it occurs to him, that if he’s encouraging Sakishima to confess to Suguru, then there’s nothing going on there. For some reason, and it’s definitely  _ not _ because Kyoutani was jealous, he can’t help but feel a little relieved.  
  
They make it through a few questions and pause for Numai to check his answers, muttering them as he cross-checks things. “Fibromyalgia?” Numai frowns, flicking his pen through his fingers and reading through the book. “Widespread pain, I see.” He scribbles down a note of it. “I think I need to look into this one a little more, I couldn’t quite remember all of it.” He taps his pen lightly against his notebook. “Are you looking forward to going home? Don’t you only have a few days left to wait?”  
  
“It’ll be weird, being back there.” Kyoutani glances up and rests his chin on his palm. “It’s like it’s the same as it was when I left it. It’ll be nice to see Honey though.” In many ways it’s like Kyoutani has outgrown his hometown. The familiar streets and faces, all unchanged despite time passing by. He shrugs, looking down at the notes Numai has been taking. “You’re left handed.” He didn’t exactly mean to say it, but it happens anyways. It’s a tiny observation, something insignificant, and with any luck Numai won’t think he’s strange for noticing it.  
  
“My mom always tells me that I don’t go home nearly enough, but I don’t like being there,” Numai sighs softly. Kyoutani’s observation takes him a little off-guard and he looks down. “Oh! Actually, I’m not,” He switches hands, finishes off the sentence he started then switches back. “Magic, see?” He chuckles. “I’ve always been able to write with both. You remember I mentioned I got injured? It was my right hand and if I’m writing for a long time it starts to cramp up, and it hurts a fucktonne, so I just always write with my left hand now.”  
  
“Doesn’t it hurt while you’re at work too?” Maybe it’s inconsiderate to ask, but he does anyway. Kyoutani shifts in his seat so he can face Numai a little more. He would imagine that if it hurt enough to avoid writing with it, then using his right hand to climb up a pole might not be the most comfortable thing. “That kinda sucks, but it’s lucky you can write with your left too.”  
  
“If you watch me closely enough, then you’ll notice that I put more weight on my left hand. I climb the pole by putting my left hand up first, my right is just used for balance and to help when I spin. It’s actually pretty easy!” Numai grins. “Yeah, it’s lucky. You wanna see something cool? I’ll show you why dancing isn’t hard for me.”  
  
There’s a part of Kyoutani that  _ almost _ says that he’s normally too distracted to pay attention to Numai’s hands when he dances, but he catches himself. He tries to remember what hand Numai starts with on the pole, but the only thing that pops into his mind was the way Numai poured water over himself and let his hands run down his chest. Kyoutani’s face heats up and he tries to think about literally anything else. “Cool?” It’s an echo, and Kyoutani’s brows knit together.   
  
“Well...Maybe it’s not that cool.” Numai shrugs, he hops up from his chair and clears out a little space on the floor. “Alright, watch me completely fail this and become the biggest embarrassment ever.” He gets down to his knees, then slides out to rest on his palms and toes. He pushes himself up and down twice, checking to feel that his weight is fine on his left side. He pushes himself again, sliding away his right hand to place behind his back and pushing himself a few more times with just his left. “See, it’s all my left side and my legs.” Numai pushes his right hand back down and jumps back up to his feet. “What do you think?”   
  
Kyoutani’s eyes grow to the size of dinner plates when Numai gets to his knees, but he can’t look away. He does a few push-ups, fine, totally normal, it isn’t like Kyoutani hasn’t seen people do push-ups before. And then Numai tucks his right arm behind his back and Kyoutani is pretty sure he stops breathing. It’s no surprise that Numai is strong, he has to be to do what he does, but seeing it this close makes Kyoutani’s heart thump awkwardly in his chest. There’s a flash of pink and a glint of metal and Kyoutani has the great misfortune of realizing that Numai has poked his tongue out of his mouth. Heat burns in the tips of his ears and Kyoutani is sure that by the time Numai stands back up his face must be a rather nice shade of pink. “That was— um, yeah.” Kyoutani tries and fails to string together words to form a sentence. His mouth feels dry and he digs in his backpack for his water bottle.   
  
Numai drops back down into his seat, leaning over just a touch to get a better look at Kyoutani. “You feeling alright? It’s pretty warm up here,” He’s warm, at least, and he doesn’t know whether it’s the push-ups or Kyoutani’s presence that makes him feel that way. He digs into his own back, pulling out his own water bottle and a small bento box. “Make sure to stay hydrated, and if you want,” He pops open the bento box, tongue quickly swiping across his lips. “I made mochi. It’s edible, I promise, I had one this morning.” He takes one of the mochi balls and munches it in two quick bites, licking his lips to get rid of the leftover powder from them. “Just take one if you’d like. We can call it a day as well, if you’re not feeling too good.”   
  
“I’m fine.” Kyoutani says, coughing a little on his water. How the fuck is he supposed to function when Numai keeps sticking out his tongue like that? After a moment, when his face feels less red and he can breathe again, he takes a mochi. “No need to go all doctor on me, I’m okay. Thank you.” He pops the mochi into his mouth. It’s delicious, soft and sweet. Somehow it’s not quite fair that Numai can cook on top of everything else. Kyoutani traces his top lip with his tongue, letting his eyes flutter closed for a second. His teeth catch his bottom lip. Two can play this game. “These are really good, you never told me you could cook.”  
  
“Okay, just let me know if you want to leave.” Numai chuckles when Kyoutani makes the joke about him being a doctor. He’s about to retort when Kyoutani grabs a piece of mochi and eats it  _ like that _ . He can feel warmth and electricity rush through his body, his heart pounding far too loudly in his ears. That should be illegal, no-one should look that good eating mochi. “Uh, yeah!” The words burst out, sounding just a tad too high in his own ears, he splutters over himself and turns back to his books. Numai taps his pen, three times, covering his face with his right hand. He takes a deep breath, a little shaky, definitely not thinking about Kyoutani’s lips elsewhere. “Fuck.” He’s not sure if he thinks it or says it, but he knows he’s screwed either way, there’s no way he could focus on studying now.   
  
Numai is tempted to pack everything up and run away, but he’s also tempted to do a million other things first. Like turning back to Kyoutani, feeling far too red-faced to even think there’s a chance Kyoutani won’t notice—like leaning over to swipe away a little powder at the edge of Kyoutani’s mouth with his thumb...and leaving his palm to linger on Kyoutani’s cheek for too long, too long to be brushed off, too long to feel  _ normal _ . Though he’s certain that their relationship is anything but normal.   
  
“Who comes to a strip club and makes friends with a dancer? Who returns just to sit at the bar and talk, when there’s other things to look at? Who invites someone they barely know to a secret spot in the library?” Numai snorts, shaking his head. “Who in their right mind invites practically a stranger up to their dorm room to talk?” He leans into Kyoutani, every part of his body is screaming  _ do it _ , it’s a flood gate waiting to open. He’s not sure he wants to wait a moment longer. “It’s completely utterly  **not** normal.” He closes the last inch of gap between them and kisses Kyoutani.   
  
There’s warmth to Numai’s palm as it rests on Kyoutani’s face, and it sets him on fire. He can’t think, can’t move, as Numai leans forward and presses their lips together. It’s a soft sort of thing, the gentle brush of Numai’s lips as Kyoutani fits them with his own. He’s been thinking about this for longer than he’d like to admit, but it’s so much better than he ever could have imagined. Kyoutani shifts forwards a little bit, so he’s on the edge of his seat, and he rests his hands gently on the back of Numai’s neck. “There’s nothing else I want to look at,” Kyoutani says when they pull apart. It’s a whisper, almost, but it doesn’t have to be loud, Numai is still close enough that if he listened hard enough he could probably hear the thump of Kyoutani’s heart. “Just you.”  
  
Numai chuckles, a breath of relief, it rushes through him in waves and he presses their foreheads together. “I’ve been wanting to do that for too long.” It’s more of a relief to say those words, to admit that he’s just been waiting for the right time. He still didn’t expect it to happen like this, all over Kyoutani eating a ball of mochi. “I’m really glad. I only wanna look at you too. I really like you, Kyoutani.” Nothing feels untouchable now, including the one thing he’s been dying to know, one of the only things Kyoutani has yet to mention. “I’d like for us to use given names...If that’s okay with you. I want you to call me Kazuma from now on.”   
  
“Kazuma.” Kyoutani smiles, testing out how the name feels on his tongue. It all feels surreal, like any second now he’s going to wake up. He doesn’t though, and the heat of Numai’s skin against his own, the warm fan of breath across his cheeks, it’s enough to let Kyoutani know just how real this is. “If that’s the case, call me Kentaro.” Kyoutani can count on one hand the number of people that call him that. Two people, that’s it. Not even Iwaizumi or Oikawa. Somehow, it feels right that Numai should be the third.   
  
“Kentaro, I like that.” Numai grins, it’s wide and feels like it might split his face at any minute. It feels completely natural and he never wants to stop saying it. “You gonna leave me hanging? Or do I need to tell you again for a reaction,” He leans further forward, his lips sliding to Kyoutani’s ear. “I like you, Kentaro.” Numai pulls back, gently tracing small circles into Kyoutani’s skin with the pad of his thumb. “We gotta make this all official and shit, if you want to date me.”   
  
Kyoutani swallows thickly, a shiver running down his spine at Numai’s words. “Thank fuck,” He lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “I thought I imagined that bit.” It’s hard to focus on anything other than the pattern of Numai’s hand, soothing over his skin. “I like you too, Kazuma.” Numai’s name is addicting, and he wants to say it over and over again. “I want to take you out on a date, a real one, not just studying. If you’ll have me.”  
  
“None of this is your imagination.” Numai reassures him, he sits back and takes Kyoutani’s hand, just so he’s still holding onto something. “If I didn’t want that, I wouldn’t have asked to make things official,” He gently squeezes Kyoutani’s hand. “I’ll gladly have you.” He’s happy relaxing in this moment, holding Kyoutani’s hand, distracted from his studying in the best way. Something in the back of his mind clicks and he almost drops Kyoutani’s hand, he holds on though, sighing softly. “I’ll be dancing again soon.”   
  
“Oh,” For a moment Kyoutani wonders if Numai will think he’ll be jealous, if he’s worried that Kyoutani might have an issue with him giving private dances to other guys. “That’s a good thing though, right? You were frustrated when you couldn’t dance.” It’s hard to read Numai’s expression, and Kyoutani can’t help but be a little nervous.   
  
“Yeah, I miss it. But I want you to be comfortable too, if you ask me not to, then I won't.” Numai squeezes Kyoutani's hand again. “If I kept dancing, if I stayed at the club…Would you change your mind about me?” He worries his teeth over his bottom lip. This whole thing is new to him, it's different and he doesn't know what to think. He knows that if Kyoutani asked him, then he'd stop. “I would stop, for you.”  
  
Kyoutani shakes his head before Numai even finishes. “I’m not going to make you do that for me, Kazuma. Dancing is important to you, right? I’m not going to stop feeling like this just because you’re up there.” Kyoutani may be gruff, at times. He might not be the best with words, or maybe just people as a general. He’s impulsive and blunt, and most of the time he’s outright grumpy. But he is loyal. If Numai wants to dance, it’s not Kyoutani’s job to stop him. It’s his job to support him. “Plus,” Kyoutani’s face heats up before he even gets the words out. “You’re really fucking hot up there.”  
  
“Yeah, it replaced volleyball for me.” Numai smiles softly, he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to Kyoutani's lips. He's not sure how he's going to be able to stop doing this now that he can, whenever he wants. “Thank you,” He can't help but blush at the compliment, it feels different coming from Kyoutani, just like the first time Numai had taken him into the private room. “That really means a lot coming from you. Just promise me that you'll tell me if you ever get uncomfortable with it and I'll happily stop. Alright?"  
  
“I promise.” There’s a note of sincerity to Kyoutani’s voice that he hopes Numai understands. It’ll be difficult to watch Numai up there, to have to sit back and wait for the bouncers if someone tries to break the rules, but there’s satisfaction in knowing that at the end of the day, the only one Numai is going home with will be him. Kyoutani kisses Numai again, short and sweet, and when he pulls back he glances at the thoroughly forgotten notes. “Should we get back to studying?”   
  
“Good, thank you.” Numai sits back, still not completely satisfied, but they're not here to keep kissing, he has an exam to study for. He reluctantly lets Kyoutani hand go and turns back to his notes, reading them over once before nodding. “Yeah, if I don't want to flunk this exam, studying is a really good idea.” He chuckles, snorting softly. Of course he's nervous about the exam, but he won't let that dampen his mood. Not like anything could right now. “Okay, onto the next one then.” Numai slides the textbook back towards Kyoutani and smiles.   
  
Kyoutani frowns when Numai’s hand falls from his own. It feels wrong, somehow. A small pout settles on his face. He picks up the textbook, chair scraping a little bit as he stands and takes a seat on Numai’s other side. “I don’t want to let go just yet.” Kyoutani mumbles out as a sort of explanation. He laces their fingers together and settles back to read out the next question. At this point, mispronouncing the words is inevitable, but he’s stopped caring. It’s comfortable with Numai.   
  
Numai is a little surprised to see Kyoutani move, it's nice though and he gently squeezes Kyoutani’s hand. He starts writing again when Kyoutani finishes the question and he's more than certain that he won't forget the material any time soon. He's bound to think about this moment, he'll remember kissing Kyoutani and holding hands together. “You know,” He speaks, halfway through writing a sentence, “You’re really cute.” He leans away from his book and kisses Kyoutani's cheek. “I don't know if I said it already, but thanks for helping me today, it's a lot better spending time here with you, even if it's only studying. It's fun.”  
  
“Cute?” Kyoutani asks, a little incredulous. He can’t remember the last time anyone has called him that, at least to his face. Time stops for a second when Numai’s lips brush his cheek. It’s like he’ll never get used to the way it makes his heart skip a beat. “I wouldn’t say it was  _ only _ studying, but yeah, I wouldn’t mind doing more of this with you.” Kissing, reading off practice questions, listening as Numai explains the circulatory system, Kyoutani wants all of it. It’s just an added bonus that it helps Numai study for his exams.   
  
“Wanting to hold my hand like this,” Numai smiles down at their hands, their fingers tangled perfectly together, “The way you pronounce these words,” He taps his book with his pen. “Everything about you is cute. Well, it’s definitely not studying since I wanted to show off doing some push-ups.” He doesn’t mind admitting it now, it makes him feel a tad bashful, but it still makes him grin. “And I get pretty distracted by you, I’m definitely distracted by kissing you. But I think it really helps, if I manage to forget any of this then I don’t think there’s any hope for me.” He snorts softly, and tries to focus on his notes. “Are there any questions for pneumocystis pneumonia? I want to test myself on that.  
  
It’s nice like this, sitting next to Numai, feeling the warmth of Numai’s palm in his hand. Kyoutani can’t help but go a little red at the compliments, and he runs his hand over his face. He groans. “Don’t even remind me about the push-ups, I thought I was gonna die.” Kyoutani flips through the book to the section on pneumonia. There are a few questions on it and he reads out one that seems like a challenge. “Who the fuck decided to spell it like that? You don’t even say half the letters that are there.”   
  
“Does that mean showing off worked?” Numai grins. He starts writing down the answer to the question that Kyoutani asks, reading it back and leaning over to check it. “Most of these words are probably Greek or Latin in origin, so just blame translations over the years.” He turns the textbook towards himself a little and reads the words, “Pneumocystis pneumonia, or PCP, is a serious infection caused by the fungus pneumocystis jirovecii. You kinda just get used to how ridiculous these words are.” Numai flushes a little, shifting his glasses up with a finger. “I’m a nerd, aren’t I?"  
  
Kyoutani can’t help but watch the curve of Numai’s mouth as he reads from the textbook. His voice is hushed, a rough whisper against the comfortable silence of the library. It’s the sort of thing that Kyoutani could listen to forever. There’s something about all of it that makes Kyoutani want to kiss him, and it hits him that he’s able to do that now. He doesn’t, but just knowing that he can is enough. And then Numai adjusts his glasses, pink dusting his cheeks, and Kyoutani blinks back to attention. He brushes his thumb in lazy circles along the back of Numai’s hand. “It’s not bad to be a nerd, it just means that you’re smart.”   
  
“Well...I guess that technically isn’t false.” Numai feels himself flush more at the compliment, and he’s sure it’s only because Kyoutani is the one saying it. It’s not the first time he’s been told that he’s smart plenty of times before. “But it’s only because I’ve studied and gotten to know my stuff. It’d be pretty shitty if someone studying a PHD didn’t know what they were talking about, at the end of this, I’m actually going to be a doctor. It’s kinda weird, no-one will ever call me  _ Numai-san _ , it’s always going to be ‘doctor’...I don’t know if I’ll get used to that.” He laughs softly and squeezes Kyoutani’s hand. “At least I’ll have you as one of the few people calling me by my given name.”   
  
“Smart is still smart no matter how you get there.” At least, that’s how Kyoutani sees it. Maybe he’s a little bit biased, because somehow Numai is already one of the smartest people he knows, but he doesn’t think so. “Or why.” Kyoutani thinks of Numai graduating, about what residency might be like and the sort of things he’ll go through there. It’s bittersweet. Four months until graduation, until Numai has the chance to leave Tokyo and never look back. It’s strange, starting off something so new and knowing it has an end date looming just around the corner. Kyoutani pushes a smile onto his face. It’s far too soon to think about all of that. “You’re working so hard just to earn that title, you should be proud of it, Doctor Kazuma.”  
  
“Of course I’m proud!” Numai grins. “But I’m not quite a doctor yet, don’t put that title on me too soon, it might be foreboding.” He leans over to steal a quick kiss from Kyoutani. “I made the final decision on my residency too, our deadline was today. I signed all the papers. I had three choices, I’ll be getting my schedule tomorrow before my exam.” He kisses Kyoutani again, two short pecks to his lips. “It’s at St. Luke’s International Hospital, in Chuo City, Tokyo.” He lets his pen fall from his hand so he can cup Kyoutani’s cheek. “It’s five minutes away. Then maybe we can talk about leaving Tokyo when you graduate. I’m not going anywhere without you.”   
  
“Really?” Kyoutani sits up straight. It’s crazy to think about how much Numai means to him, how it’s only been a few weeks and already losing Numai would be like losing a piece of himself. His lips find Numai’s and he presses a soft kiss there. “I thought you wanted to get out of here.” Kyoutani manages when they pull back. “Why are you staying?” It’s not that Kyoutani isn’t grateful that he’s going to be here, it just feels too good to be true. Like everything that’s happened in the last few hours is a fairytale and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.   
  
“Yeah, I mean it. I do want to leave at some point, but not until you graduate,” Numai bites his bottom lip, worrying his teeth over it for a moment before speaking again. “I actually made that decision last night, after talking with you. Part of it is because I know that running away won’t fix anything, my dad is still going to despise me no matter what I do or how hard I work. The other reason was because of you. I didn’t just want to go without telling you how you make me feel.” He smiles again, leaning in a touch just so he can kiss Kyoutani’s cheek. “I wanted to confess and I wanted to stay here for you, even if you turned me down, it hurt too much to think about leaving when you’re here. Because I’d do anything to make you mine.”  
  
Something warm settles in Kyoutani’s stomach. It’s a new sort of feeling, a deep fondness that runs so close to his heart it’s like it’s always been there. He feels like he’s falling, like everything he’s ever known has been pulled out from under him and all that’s left is Numai. Fate doesn’t exist, coincidences can and will just happen, but just this once Kyoutani lets himself believe that this is how it was always supposed to pan out. “I didn’t want you to go either. I mean, I didn’t know— I didn’t think you liked me, but I hoped you’d stay.”   
  
“I'm really glad that I made my decision to stay. It worked out, and now that you're my boyfriend—”  _ Was it okay to say that?  _ “I definitely don't plan on going anywhere after I graduate, I'll be staying here until you graduate too.” He slowly pulls away, one last kiss lingering on Kyoutani's cheek. “But before all that, I do have exams, and I actually should be studying. No matter how much better it is to distract myself in you. We've got plenty of time to do that, and once you're back after the holidays then we'll have even more time for boyfriend things.”  
  
_ Boyfriend _ . Hearing the word out loud suddenly makes the whole thing seem so much more real. There’s nothing Kyoutani wants more than to spend time losing himself in Numai, but he can’t. He slumps back in his seat. “Exams fucking suck.” It comes out huffy, more like a whining child than a college student. Kyoutani picks up the textbook, resting the soles of his shoes on the seat of a neighboring chair so he can prop it up on his knees. “Ready for the next one?”   
  
“Exams do suck,” Numai nods, he picks up his pen and focuses on his notebook. It’s still nice, doing something so simple with Kyoutani at his side, it makes everything feel better and he’s sure that the moment he tells Sakishima what happened that he’ll be too happy to get angry about Numai leaving him with Daishou. “Yeah, study brain is firmly into place. I’m good to go! Hit me with something tough.”   
  
Kyoutani reads off question after question, watching as Numai jots down the answer. Technically it’s not even his exam, and yet his head still feels so stuffed with information that it almost hurts. The sun sinks low in the horizon, bathing the library in gold. From up on the balcony it almost looks like the first floor is on fire. Kyoutani stretches, glancing over at where Numai’s writing, his tongue poking out of his mouth in a way that is stupidly adorable. “Kazuma,” He elbows Numai’s arm lightly. “It’s almost time for dinner.”  
  
“Huh?” Numai looks up. He sees how the sun is setting and when he checks his watch, Kyoutani is right. They’ve been sitting here for hours. “Yeah, we should get back.” He packs away his books, then his glasses follow, he tugs his coat on and stands up. “Come on then,” He slings on his backpack and holds out his hand for Kyoutani. “Sorry for keeping you so long, I hadn’t even realised.”   
  
Their fingers tangle together as if they were made to be that way, a perfect match. Kyoutani shrugs his backpack on one shoulder and walks, hand in hand, with Numai through the rows of shelves. It’s so quiet in the library that their footsteps echo against the concrete. Most people finished their finals already, it’s just the med students that are left and they tend to stick to their own section of the library. “So,” Kyoutani bumps his shoulder against Numai’s as they walk, his voice teasing. “who’s more distracting to study with, Sakishima or me?”  
  
“You, because even when I’m focused, I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to kiss you.” The walk to the dorm isn’t far, even though Numai is in no hurry to end the night yet. When they reach Kyoutani’s floor, he squeezes Kyoutani’s hand. “Sakki’s usually asking me about Suguru, it’s pretty easy to ignore that. I think he forgets that I only dated him for a couple months, and it was way back when we were first years. I’m not an expert on that, maybe if he asked me about dientamoeba fragilis then I could help.”   
  
Kyoutani laughs, coming to a stop at the door to the third floor. “Ignoring your friend to study some shitty bacteria? That’s a dick move Kazuma.” There’s a pause for a second where normally one of them would leave, but this time it’s so much harder. Kyoutani lets Numai’s hand slip from his own and he stuffs his fists in his pockets. It’s not the same sort of warmth, but it’s close enough that maybe he won’t miss Numai’s touch just yet.  
  
“It’s not that,” Numai groans, he  _ knows _ Kyoutani is joking and he’s taking the bait. “I just know more about that! It’s been years, Suguru’s changed a lot since we were dating, I’m not exactly the best source. It was a mutual decision when we broke up, that’s why we can still be friends and I’m not going to remember stuff from almost six years ago. We were still dumb kids.” He taps his fingers against his hand. It still feels warm in the wake of Kyoutani. He steps forward and kisses him, sweet and short. “Goodnight, Kentaro. I’d invite you up again, but I need to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow. I guess...I’ll see you after winter break is over? If you can make it back in time, we do a pretty special show two days after new year.”   
  
Break hasn’t even started yet and Kyoutani already wants it to be over. “Yeah, after.” He frowns at the thought of leaving; of Numai being here alone over the holiday. “I‘ll let you know when I get back, but I’ll try to make it.” Kyoutani pulls Numai down and presses their lips together. It’s a lingering sort of kiss, one that says  _ I miss you _ and  _ don’t go _ and a million other things Kyoutani doesn’t have the words to say. He steps back, letting go of Numai’s jacket and making for the door. “I’ll see you in a few weeks.” His fingers rest on the door handle and he almost can’t bring himself to turn it. “Miss you.” Heat rushes to his cheeks and he looks away, pulling open the door and disappearing into the hall.  
  
Numai wants to stay there forever and melt into Kyoutani’s kisses, he manages to pull himself away though and to the stairs, half-turned towards them as he watches Kyoutani disappear. He smiles to himself and climbs the stairs up to his floor, the moment he’s in his room, he hits the mattress of his bed with a happy sigh. He knows there’s going to be much more they can look forward to together, it rushes through him like a flood and he drifts off to thoughts of Kyoutani.


	4. Chapter 4

_ It’s a few weeks _ , Numai reminds himself every morning as he gets ready. Exams keep him mostly distracted but once they’re over, there’s nothing else. Sakishima decided to go home, both Hiroo and Daishou are gone too, so he’s truly alone. He takes extra shifts at the club, even if he’s on the bar and not dancing. It keeps Mizutani happy and there’s been no other mention from him or Akuta about Kyoutani. They’ve been texting while Kyoutani’s back in Miyagi, it’s a funny sort of feeling, because Numai is happy but it doesn’t feel like enough.   
  
Then there’s a new message,  _ I’m coming back to Tokyo _ , and it sends Numai’s heart soaring and a smile is glued to his face. When he gets to the club, Suna mentions it as a passing comment but Numai ignores him and gets ready for the night. It was a vague text, and Numai isn’t sure if Kyoutani will show at the club tonight, but he still goes all out with what he’s wearing for the night. His first dance on the stage is to his favourite song and none of the other dancers bat an eye as he slips into his favourite set of clothes. A gold thong, shiny red booty-shorts and a black fishnet shirt. He’ll put on a hell of a show and if Kyoutani makes it, then everything will be much sweeter. He’s tempted to add his glitter too, but instead he does his makeup, green on his eyes and pink lips, he plans on knocking the crowd dead.   
  
Ten days. It takes ten days for Kyoutani’s dads to ask what’s up. He’s pretty sure they already have enough of a clue, if their not-so-subtle comments over dinner mean anything.  _ Have you met anyone new, Taro? Why are you always on your phone, Taro? _ Or, Kyoutani’s favorite development: They’d go quiet, whispering to themselves as Kyoutani sits fussing with the latest drawing in his sketchbook. It isn’t until he looks at what he’s drawing, really looks at it, that he sees why. Soft lips and softer skin, blond hair laying in messy curls that contrast a dark undercut. It’s Numai. Two days after that, he’s on a train back to Tokyo.   
  
Kyoutani stops by the dorm first, just to drop off his suitcase and change into something more suited to a strip club. It takes a few tries, and a small pile of discarded shirts grows at the foot of his bed, but he lands on an outfit Iwaizumi would be proud of. He hurried over to the train station and takes the now familiar route to The Manor. The same bouncer stands at the front collecting the cover fee. Kyoutani pays without hesitation. Music thunders through the main floor, loud and alluring, tempting customers closer to the stage. But Kyoutani isn’t a customer anymore, and he couldn’t care less about the stage. He makes for the bar, steps faltering when instead of Numai, Akuta stands behind the bar. Out of habit alone, Kyoutani orders a drink and sits down in the far seat, not caring enough about the dancers to look over his shoulder at the stage.   
  
The music hits and Numai stands at the curtain to the stage, listening to the announcement  _ enchanting Cobra _ , it’s always something new. He flows through the curtain, body swaying to the music. He works the stage, watching the crowd for a familiar gaze and when he doesn’t find it, he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. He carries himself onward, hands smoothing down over the fabric of his shirt, fingers looping for a moment in the gaps. He moves to the pole, sliding his hand up the metal, his fingers curl near the top and he spins around, body rocking to the beat.   
  
Numai slides down to his knees, stretching over the stage and touching himself again, hands over his thighs, then his torso. He’s glad he has this right now, so he can push back how much he wishes Kyoutani was here. He pulls himself to his feet, hips rocking along to the beat, he drops the booty-shorts, leaving him exposed in the gold thong, the shirt is revealing enough that he doesn’t have to toss it aside and he works the crowd easily. Numai slides down to the stage again, he reaches out to tease with the tips of his fingers, then pulls back to touch himself, he pokes his tongue out and runs his finger down, straight over his body to the edge of the thong. He smiles and winks when the men reach over to slide yen into the elastic of his thong.   
  
The second the announcer says  _ Cobra _ , Kyoutani snaps his head to the stage. It’s impossible to look away from Numai when he’s like this, fingers catching in the netting of his shirt, tugging it down much in the same way that Kyoutani wants to tug it off. He climbs the pole and this time Kyoutani notices that he leads with his left. For a moment Kyoutani is frozen in his seat, unable to so much as think as Numai pulls off his shorts and sinks down to the stage to let the crowd slip money into his thong. Jealousy bubbles in his stomach, but he pushes it down. Kyoutani stands, downs the rest of his drink, and slaps enough money to cover his cocktail on the bar. It’s busy tonight, and Numai is on the main stage, right where the crowd is the thickest. Some of the customers shoot Kyoutani dirty looks as he pushes to get closer, but he finds he doesn’t mind much. They don’t really matter to him anyway.   
  
Numai might be lost in the music, but it doesn’t distract him enough not to see Kyoutani. He winks down, and it could look like it’s to the crowd, some of them even whistle when he does it and it allows him to relax. He pulls the shirt off in one swift movement then works himself around the pole, he hikes himself upwards, his back to the crowd so he can shake his ass. He arches his body to get a good look at Kyoutani, licking his lips slowly. If they weren’t here, Numai would soon strut over to Kyoutani and kiss him.   
  
The song slows to its end and Numai slides from the stage, working through the crowd, a few people stuff more yen into the string of his thong but he can’t find it in himself to care, or to offer a private dance. The announcer calls  _ Kit _ and the crowd are soon vultures back on the stage. Numai knows Suna has always been popular and he’s grateful for it, because it allows him to weave his way to Kyoutani. “Hey,” Numai runs his hand over Kyoutani’s chest then down his arm. “Would you like a private dance?”   
  
Kyoutani feels his mouth go dry at the way Numai’s tongue traces over his lips. Everything in him says to walk up there and kiss him, but he doesn’t. He’s rooted to the spot, watching as Numai’s song ends and he wades through the crowd. There’s no question, Kyoutani knows he’s coming to him. Electricity follows the path of Numai’s fingertips as they trace over Kyoutani’s chest and arm. It takes everything in him to keep his hands to himself, because even though he’s not exactly a customer anymore, Numai is still Cobra. At least for right now. He smiles, it’s a reflex around Numai. “As if I could ever say no to you.”   
  
“Great.” Numai grins, he takes Kyoutani’s wrist and leads him down to the private room. “Make yourself comfortable.” He adds a wink then leaves Kyoutani to go get changed. He finds the sheer briefs first and changes into them, then slides over a green pair of shorts and finally pulls on a form-fitting tank top. He returns to the room, sliding out his phone from his pocket. “I’m doing something special tonight, for you,” He hooks his phone up to the stereo speaker, the next thing he does is slide out a small pile of yen and puts it into the drawer. “Unfortunately, they have a monitor on the drawer, so I have to make that look convincing,” He finds his playlist and presses play, letting the first song carry him over to Kyoutani. He settles in his lap and quickly traces a finger over his bare stomach, then he points upwards. “The camera isn’t real, no-one but us will know what we do in here. You look really good, Kentaro.”   
  
It only takes a second for Numai to return and Kyoutani is sitting back on the soft leather of the couch when he does. A crease forms in his brow as Numai sets up, and he almost asks what exactly he has planned, but before the sentence can even make it to words, the music starts. Kyoutani keeps his hands obediently by his sides as Numai straddles his lap. It’s less tense than the first time, less awkward, and he can’t help but think everything with Numai will feel this natural. The trace of Numai’s fingers makes Kyoutani’s breath catch in his throat and he follows them, flicking his eyes to the evidently fake security camera. Nothing more than a lens and a little red LED. He relaxes, a tiny sliver of tension that he didn’t know he was holding dissipates from his body. “Fuck, Kazuma,” It’s a breathy sort of thing, which is about all Kyoutani can hope to manage while Numai is sitting in his lap. “I missed you.”  
  
“I missed you too.” Numai lets his body sway to the music, he reaches out to cup Kyoutani’s cheeks and leans into him. Their chests press together first, then their lips and Numai is more than hungry for this, so much so that he can’t stop himself from sliding his tongue into Kyoutani’s mouth. He tastes of alcohol, but it’s nice, there’s something entirely  _ Kyoutani _ underneath it all that Numai wants to dig out and drown himself in. He only pulls back to take a breath, it’s a soft sigh of relief and happiness. “You came back early, for me. Weren’t your dads upset about you leaving?” The beat of the music rushes through him and he rocks himself against Kyoutani, he reaches for his shirt and tosses it into the room, uncaring about where it lands.   
  
Kyoutani melts into the kiss, lips parting at the brush of Numai tongue. The metal of Numai’s tongue piercing makes him shiver, warmth creeping up his chest. He could do this forever, get lost in Numai’s lips and never come back. When Numai pulls back he leans after him, just enough for his head to come off of the back of the seat before he slumps back, trying to catch his breath. He snorts out a sort of laugh. “Upset? Fuck no. Once they found out I left you here they practically kicked me out.” Kyoutani’s eyes follow the hem of the tank top, savoring every inch of exposed skin.   
  
“So I’m completely free to keep you all to myself?” Numai smirks. He rolls off from Kyoutani, body swaying to the music. He licks his lips, unfastening the shorts and quickly sliding them down so they pool at his feet; he kicks out of them and slides over Kyoutani again, gently running his hands down over his head, following along the line of his shoulders. He rocks his body, arching to press their chests together again, he reaches back to grab a bottle and pours some of the liquid into his mouth. Numai traces his finger along Kyoutani’s jaw, then tips his head back, Numai leans in so their lips are brushing in an almost kiss and he can pass the drink along.   
  
He licks his lips and watches Kyoutani swallow. “You’re gorgeous. Y’know that?” He slides his arms around Kyoutani’s neck, it’s easy to use the strength in his legs to push forward, so his ass is no longer flush with Kyoutani’s thighs, but now his groin can press up against Kyoutani’s stomach. “I’ve been wanting to get you back in here. So I could dance for your eyes only.”   
  
“Kazuma.” Kyoutani’s voice is needy in a way that sends color to his cheeks. There’s something mesmerizing in the way Numai pours alcohol into his mouth, the way he guides his head back. Kyoutani drinks from Numai’s lips, intoxicated more by the brush of their skin than by the alcohol. “ _ Fuck _ .” The way Numai grinds against him makes his head spin. Fire flows through his veins. His hands ball into fists by his sides and he tries his hardest not to touch, but god does he want to. Kyoutani glances up, taking in just how beautiful Numai is on top of him. “Just for me?”  
  
The music fades into the next song as Numai looks down at Kyoutani. “Yeah, I’d do anything for you. No-one else matters.” He rolls his body down over Kyoutani’s, pressing them close enough that it’s almost too much even for Numai to handle. The music continues to move him and the song builds, swaying him through his movements, Numai slides his hands down so he can touch Kyoutani’s. He leans in, kissing Kyoutani’s lips, then his cheek, then his ear, whispering the lyrics as they burst from the stereo. “A little bit dangerous, but baby, that's how I want it,” He licks the shell of Kyoutani’s ear, rocking down into him. “A little less conversation, and a little more touch my body,” He puts Kyoutani’s hands on his chest and leads them over his skin. “'Cause I'm so into you.” He pushes back, his ass pressing down into Kyoutani’s knees, the music rocks through him and he moves his body, eyes flicking to watch Kyoutani’s hands slide over his skin with the motion from his movements.   
  
A breathy sort of gasp slips from Kyoutani’s lips at the swipe of Numai tongue against his ear. His eyes grow wide, lips parting ever so slightly as Numai lifts his hands to rest against his skin. It’s warm beneath Kyoutani’s fingertips, soft, just like he’s imagined it would be. He glances between Numai’s face and their hands, and then it’s just Kyoutani’s hands, and he’s free to let them wander. The pads of Kyoutani’s fingers trace along the lines of Numai’s stomach, as if memorizing the way he feels. It’s a soft sort of touch, just grazing Numai’s skin, all the way down to the waistband of Numai’s sheer boxers. And then Kyoutani flattens his palms and runs his hands up, leaning forward with the touch to pull Numai into a kiss. He catches Numai’s lower lip gently between his teeth, tugging on it lightly before swiping his tongue over it.  
  
Numai’s breath hitches as Kyoutani touches him, he melts into it though and indulges in the kiss, groaning softly when Kyoutani’s teeth graze him. His head is spinning a little, completely unravelled by Kyoutani. “Shit,” He breathes out the curse, feeling far too hot. He slides from Kyoutani’s lap, only to turn around and sit against him, as if facing away will somehow make this any easier. Numai sways to the music, following the trail from Kyoutani’s hands with his own, he rocks himself over Kyoutani’s lap, reaching down to grasp at Kyoutani’s knees for a little support. “Ken, come back with me tonight?” It’s not really supposed to be a question, but Numai doesn’t quite have the confidence to demand something from Kyoutani, even while he’s sat dancing in Kyoutani’s lap.   
  
“Fuck, yes.” Kyoutani groans, he’s too far lost in it all to string together a better response.  _ Ken _ . The nickname makes his heart clench and there’s no chance in hell that he’s ever going to forget the way it sounds from Numai’s lips. His hands slide over Numai’s back, up to his shoulders and then down along his sides. Every roll of Numai’s hips, every arch of his spine, Kyoutani can feel all of it under his fingertips and he never wants to pull away. He presses a kiss to the space between Numai’s shoulder blades. “I never want to stop touching you.” It’s a low sort of sound, mumbled from deep in Kyoutani’s chest, his lips still brushing against Numai’s skin.  
  
Numais head falls forward as Kyoutani’s hands wander over his back, it feels almost like getting a massage from him and it’s heaven. Kyoutani’s confession rushes through him like a dam just broke, it’s strong and there’s honesty behind it, enough that Numai doesn’t mind admitting the same thing. “I never want you to stop, it feels amazing.” He smooths his hands back over Kyoutani’s thighs then down to his knees. “I don’t want any of this to stop.” Numai’s aware enough to realise the song’s changed, the next one flows through him and he slips to the floor, body working forward. Numai has never felt so exposed before, stretching out in front of Kyoutani makes him want to reach back and touch himself, of course he doesn’t but the thought is enough to send a shiver through his body   
  
He turns over, pulling himself easily to his knees then over Kyoutani’s lap, higher up, until he’s gripping the couch behind Kyoutani’s shoulders and once again settled in his lap with their chests pressed together. “I’d do this for you outside of the club too, you’d just have to ask.”   
  
Kyoutani’s hand reaches after Numai as he sinks to the floor, only to fall to his side a second later. The way he grinds against the floor, makes a sort of growl rumble from Kyoutani’s chest. “God, Kazuma, you’re gonna be the death of me.” For a moment he wonders if he looks half as wrecked as he sounds, but then Numai is crawling back onto his lap and nothing else matters. His hands trail up Numai’s thighs, coming to rest on the curve of his ass. Kyoutani leans up, alternating a trail of kitten licks and open-mouthed kisses along Numai’s collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. He hums, filing away the thought of asking Numai to dance for him, for later.   
  
Numai moans softly, head tipping backwards. “I promise I'm not planning on killing you, I don't wanna lose you.” He chuckles, half breathy from the way Kyoutani continues to move his lips over his skin. Numai runs his hands down over Kyoutani's shoulders, down to his stomach where the wide expanse of skin is waiting, completely free for him to dance his fingers over. “Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?” He smooths his hands up, flicking his fingers just under Kyoutani’s shirt. Numai wants to see more too; even if sitting here, almost naked, is his job and not Kyoutani’s, it feels almost unfair that Kyoutani is still dressed. “You’re driving me crazy.”  
  
It’s too hot in the small private room. The soundproofing alone keeps it well insulated, and the way Numai’s fingers brush against Kyoutani’s stomach sends magma rushing through his veins. He grabs the collar of his shirt and, in one smooth motion, lifts his back off the couch enough to tug it off. It’s a little bit cooler this way. The leather of the couch is smooth—icy, almost, in comparison to the trail of Numai’s hands and Kyoutani shivers. Everything else melts away except for the music and Numai.   
  
Numai sucks in a breath and runs his fingers up over Kyoutani’s chest, a light teasing touch. He leans down and kisses along Kyoutani’s shoulder, nipping softly at the skin over his collarbones. He smooths his fingers over Kyoutani’s stomach and down his sides, breathing deep against Kyoutani’s neck, his body still rolling to the music. Numai finds Kyoutani’s hands, squeezing them and then his wrists. He slides his fingers up Kyoutani’s arms, over his shoulders and back down over his chest and stomach, to settle in his lap.   
  
Kyoutani’s eyes flutter closed at the feeling of Numai’s hands over his chest, of his lips against his skin. He moans, head tipping back just a little bit. It’s addicting, being like this with Numai, and he never wants it to end. Numai’s hands squeeze his wrists and Kyoutani’s eyes slide open. The music is still playing, Numai is still dancing, still rolling his hips in a way that makes Kyoutani’s head spin. He doesn’t want to miss a second of it.  
  
“Kentaro, you leave me feeling so hot.” Numai’s hands slide along Kyoutani’s hips, teasing the edge of his pants with his thumbs. “I don’t feel like I’m in control here,” He slides to his feet and dances in front of Kyoutani, nudging his knees apart so he can stand between them. Numai dips his body into an arch, his hands resting firmly on Kyoutani’s knees, the music drifts through him and he hums the beat, reverberating it through his bones. “I’m all yours.”   
  
“All mine.” Kyoutani echoes, watching the sway of Numai’s body. He lets his eyes trail shamelessly down the exposed skin of Numai’s chest, all the way to where the mesh fabric of his briefs clings to his hips. There’s a wet spot right where they tent forward and heat rushes through Kyoutani’s skin, pooling between his legs. He catches his lip between his teeth, holding back a wanton groan. “ _ Kazu _ , fuck, you have no idea how good you look dancing for me like that.” And it’s true, because while there’s no doubt Numai knows how gorgeous he looks, it looks even better when Kyoutani knows he’s the only one it’s for. “You make it so hard to hold back, I want you so bad right now.”  
  
The nickname sets a buzz through Numai’s body, he moves into Kyoutani, holding his hands and running them down over his stomach, teasing past the waistband of the briefs. “Then don’t hold back,” It’s a breathy confession and he leaves Kyoutani’s hands resting at his hips; his own stretch forward, running over Kyoutani’s thighs. “Touch me how you want.” Numai whispers into Kyoutani’s ear, gently biting the shell then trailing his tongue over, swiping his piercing against the soft spot behind Kyoutani’s ear. “Touch me  _ wherever _ you want. I’m desperate for you.” Numai’s fingers flick over the waistband of Kyoutani’s jeans and he tugs gently at the fabric.   
  
Kyoutani plays with Numai’s waistband, tugging it down just a fraction before palming him through the fabric. If they weren’t here, in the club, Kyoutani wouldn’t hesitate. He would slip the briefs down and take his time stretching Numai open until he was begging for more. The scrape of teeth against the shell of his ear pulls a growl from his throat, and his resolve almost slips. “I’m desperate too baby, but—“ His breath catches in his throat when Numai’s fingers find the waistband of his pants. His hips roll up on instinct and he hisses out a sharp “ _ Fuck _ . I wanna take my time with you.”  
  
“We can continue it later.” Numai sighs softly, a moan rumbling through his throat. His hands move back to himself and he slides his briefs lower. “Right now, I really want you to touch me.” He touches Kyoutani’s thighs again and slides his hands over Kyoutani’s groin. “I want to touch you too,” He forces his hands away and steps back from Kyoutani. “ _ Shit _ , you’re right, we should stop.” It’s hard to keep his hands away, but he knows he needs to stop now, because if he doesn’t then there’d be no return.   
  
They really should stop. They should break apart and take a moment to catch their breath, but  _ fuck _ , Kyoutani doesn’t want to. Numai steps back and he groans, suddenly cold without the contact. His chest heaves and he squeezes his eyes shut. “Kazuma, that was— You were—“  _ Amazing _ ? It’s more than that, so much more, but Kyoutani can’t find the words. He sits forward, resting his arms on his knees. Everything still feels so warm and he tries desperately to cool down. Kyoutani looks up at Numai, hoping that somehow he’ll know what he means without saying it.   
  
“I loved every minute of it.” Numai grins, he pulls his shorts back on and turns off the stereo. The room falls into silence and he swears he can hear their breathing bouncing off the walls, uncontrolled and heavy. He slides the money out of the drawer and into his waistband, then he finds his shirt and pulls it back on. “I wish we could stay in here, that I didn’t need to go back out there,” Numai steps over to Kyoutani and leans down to press their lips together. It’s so hard to pull back, but he forces himself away and swallows. “Are you staying until the end of my shift?”   
  
Kyoutani savors the feeling of Numai’s lips, and when they pull back he smiles. “Yeah, how could I leave now?” He stands, picking up his hastily discarded shirt and tugging it back over his head. “I don’t want to miss watching you dance, and besides,” He brings his hands to rest on Numai’s waist and he rises on his tiptoes so their lips can meet. It’s a short kiss, soft and gentle in comparison to the heated brush of lips from moments earlier. Their foreheads rest together when Kyoutani pulls back. “I’m going back with you, right?”  
  
Numai hums against Kyoutani’s lips. “Yeah, and you’re the only one in this place that I want to go home with, the only one I want to touch me.” He runs his hands over Kyoutani’s arms. He indulges in the silence for a couple of minutes then steps back. “I need to go get changed. I’ve got another dance on the main stage first, then I move onto the smaller stage.” He reaches for the door, pausing for a second when his fingers lang on the handle. “You know they’re going to be touching me. Will you be okay?”  
  
“I’ll manage.” It sounds more laissez-faire than Kyoutani feels, but there’s comfort in knowing that he’s the only one that gets to see Numai like this. He’s the only one that gets to be with Numai like they were moments ago, lost in each other's touch. They may brush against Numai’s skin as they tuck money into his shorts, but they’ll never feel him like Kyoutani gets to. “When I said I was fine with you dancing, I meant it.”  
  
“Thank you.” Numai brushes his hands through his hair then pulls the door open and steps out into the hallway. He glances back at Kyoutani then slips out the curtain to go backstage. He puts the money into the safe and makes a mental note to thank Daishou later. Numai changes quickly, purple thong, black booty-shorts and a mesh crop top. He watches as Shiomi finishes up his routine. His announcement goes out and he makes his way to the pole.   
  
Numai reaches up, pulling himself away from the stage and spinning around. His ankles lock around the metal and he rolls his body to the beat of the music. He moves in close, holding himself steady against the pole with his thighs, he lets his hands fall and arches backwards, palms pressing to the stage. He sways his body, watching the crowd, he flips over after a moment and works along the edge of the stage, teasing his thumbs into the waistband of his shorts.   
  
Kyoutani slips from the private room and heads for the main stage. The music fades as he finds an empty table near the front, and he watches every step as Numai walks to the pole. It’s amazing how comfortable he seems up there, how easily he climbs up and lets go to hang over the stage. From here, Kyoutani can marvel at the roll of Numai’s hips and remember the way it felt underneath his fingertips. He can’t look away as Numai tugs at the waistband of his shorts, he can hardly even blink.   
  
Numai spreads his fingers over his stomach and slides them up, to reach the shirt, pulling it off. His body rocks to the song, he bites his bottom lip as he slides the shorts down, leaving them to pool at his feet. Numai raises his hands high above his head, teasing his fingers over his forearms, his body swaying along to the music. He turns around, strutting over to the pole with purpose, he hooks one leg around and pulls himself up, so his body rocks against the pole. Numai lets himself fall down to the stage, he crawls over to the edge, hips swaying and shaking his ass, he stops at the edge, resting on his knees.   
  
His body moves and he smiles down at the crowd as they slide money into his thong. Someone slides their hand up his side and he winks, returning a soft touch to his arm, and the guy blushes, withdrawing back. Numai rolls his tongue out over his lips, hands snaking over himself, his piercing presses into his lips and he dips forward into the crowd, fingers teasing through the men. He knows that being on show like this means he owns every move of the crowd.   
  
It’s not like Kyoutani didn’t expect people to touch Numai. He knew they would. He knew he would probably be jealous of it too, and that he had to keep it all under control while they were still at the club. What he didn’t expect was that someone would touch Numai like  _ that _ . Or that Numai would ghost his fingers over the man’s arm in return. Kyoutani’s hands ball up into fists, clenching the fabric of his jeans. His eyes narrow and he glares, feeling decidedly sour, into the spot in the crowd where the hand had emerged from. The chances of seeing the guy’s face are slim, and the chances that the guy will just so happen to look over and see Kyoutani glaring in his general direction are none, but he can sure as fuck try. If looks could kill, he would be absolutely lethal, but they can’t, and so he gives up, jealousy seeping into his bones as he watches Numai trail a hand through the crowd at the edge of the stage.  
  
Numai slides backwards once more money has found his way to his thong. He returns to the pole, spinning himself around as his hips ruck against the metal, he slides away when Izuru’s announcement is made, they dance around each other then take to the pole, legs folding around each other. Numai dips backwards, he rocks his body, hands holding him solid; Izuru’s fingers slide up his torso, patting softly to the beat of the music and the crowd whistle. Their positions switch, so Numai can spread his fingers over Izuru’s skin as he holds himself upside down, he grabs a bottle then pulls himself back up; he holds himself against the pole, the hand with the bottle reaches up and he pours the water over them.  
  
Numai shakes his hair out and he moves into the pole as Izumi does, they’ve danced this routine so many times that it’s easy to make it look like they might be kissing. Numai slides from the pole as the music shifts and he walks down to the floor. The guy who reached out to him walks over, hands curled together like he’s afraid he’ll get in trouble. “Above the waist,” Numai whispers, his body swaying to Izuru’s music. “Do you want a dance?” He shakes his head. Numai blows a kiss and heads onto the smaller stage, hands running over himself and spreading the water further.   
  
Silver walks out on stage and Kyoutani thinks that maybe the song is over. That Numai will shift to the side stage where the crowd is a little bit thinner. He doesn’t. The song keeps going, and Silver joins him on the pole. There’s no rule about dancers touching other dancers and, unlike the stranger in the crowd, Silver is wearing an outfit that’s so barely-there that Kyoutani can’t help but wonder if it can really be called clothing.  _ Fuck _ , he thinks as he watches the water drip over both of them. There’s a special place in hell for whoever thought a dance with both Numai and Silver was a good idea, and Kyoutani has half a mind to send them there himself. It’s torture of sorts, and somehow Kyoutani has found himself in the role of both a sadist and a masochist.  
  
He watches as Numai walks through the crowd, as a guy walks up to him and he leans over to whisper something. For a moment Kyoutani thinks they’ll go to the private room. That he’ll be left out here to lose his mind a little while Numai straddles the guy’s lap. They don’t though, and when Numai walks over to the smaller stage Kyoutani follows, taking a seat at an open table to watch him dance.   
  
Numai dries his hands then grips the pole, his left hand holding steady while his right hooks around at the elbow. He pushes himself up, so he’s hanging horizontally, he pulls his legs in and arches his back, swaying to the music. He swings his legs inwards to tangle around the pole and he pulls himself up, the beat of the music carrying his body to roll up against the pole. It’s easy to get lost in it, and in the dancing, it takes Numai’s attention away from the fact that Kyoutani is watching him.   
  
He slides down and lays against the stage, his knees folding under him. Numai breathes deep, arms extending upwards then falling gently to his chest, sliding down then back up. He grabs one single bill from his thong and holds it between his lips, Numai rolls towards the crowd, a foot extending outwards to them, he slides down from the stage to work through the crowd. The shy man from before gently taps his wrist and Numai nods, holding a hand out for him. He jumps up and Numai lets his fingers slide to the guy’s wrist instead then leads him down toward the curtain, towards his private room.   
  
Kyoutani is so lost in Numai’s performance that he doesn’t see the man coming. One moment he’s grinding against the stage and the next he’s leading some wide-eyed stranger off to the private rooms. The crowd dissipates and with it the remainder of Kyoutani’s sanity. A new song is starting and a new dancer comes to take Numai’s place. Kyoutani stands, making his way to sit at the far side of the bar again. He orders a drink, jabbing his finger at the menu instead of muttering out the name.  _ Wanna be yours _ . It helps a little bit to know that whatever Numai is doing with the stranger, it can’t compare to what he did with Kyoutani earlier. That he’s the only one that gets to touch Numai like he did earlier. The only one who gets to trail kisses along every inch of skin that he can find. He sips his drink, counting each agonizing minute as he waits for Numai to reappear.  
  
Numai feels a little strange being back in the private room so soon. He does his job, dancing through three songs that the guy pays for. He's polite and says thanks when it's over. Numai takes the money backstage and changes into a green jockstrap then walks back out, climbing the small stage on the other side. He works the pole, sliding his body against it then spinning around with ease. When he slides across the stage, the men are eager to stuff money into the string and Numai is happy to dance for more.   
  
The jealousy doesn’t fade as the evening goes on, but it does get easier to handle. Kyoutani is able to relax at the bar, watching as Numai dances, his hips, stomach, and chest rolling forward like his bones have turned to liquid. Hands brush his skin as they tuck money into his waistband, but it’s not Numai they’re touching. It’s not Numai that they want. It’s Cobra. From here Kyoutani can pick apart what makes the two different. Cobra wears a knowing sort of smirk, one with an easy sort of confidence that tells you he sees exactly what he’s doing to the crowd. He’s got the world in his pocket and he’s hungry for more in a way that’s almost a little intimidating. But Numai is different. He’s everything that Cobra is, but he wears glasses when he drives or when he’s studying. He snorts when he laughs, and it’s the cutest thing Kyoutani has ever heard. He worries about Kyoutani getting enough sleep or wearing crop tops in December. The customers here see Cobra, but they don’t have the privilege of seeing Numai.   
  
It’s an exhaustively long shift, mostly because Numai knows Kyoutani is in the crowd, watching him from wherever he’s sat, and Numai urges to find him out, just to kiss him. He shakes off the remnants of his show and disappears backstage to clean up. It’s nice to slip into sweatpants and a loose shirt, he leaves with his money and slides into his car with a sigh. He finally feels like he can relax and he knows Kyoutani will be joining him soon, a perfect way to recharge after the long evening. Numai drives to the station, waiting for Kyoutani to find him. He adjusts his glasses then runs a hand through his hair, the least he can do is look a little more presentable and he slowly starts tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.   
  
Kyoutani filters out of the club, shrugging his coat over his shoulders. Somehow it’s so quiet that it feels loud. It’s as if he’s the only person alive out here, alone amongst the howling wind. But he’s not alone, or at least, he won’t be for long. The walk to the train station feels longer than it actually is, mostly because Kyoutani knows that Numai will be there waiting for him. There’s no doubt in his mind this time. By the time he reaches the station, it’s late. Not because he took a long time getting there, but because Numai’s shift was longer now that he’s dancing again. Kyoutani should be tired, he should be just about ready to curl up in bed and pass out before his head so much as touches the pillow, but he couldn’t possibly be more awake. He knocks lightly on the side window of Numai’s car, waving when Numai looks over.  
  
Numai can't stop smiling the moment he sees Kyoutani there, he reaches over and opens the door for him. "Hey," He says once Kyoutani is settled, Numai turns the heat up. "I don't know how you can come out dressed like that." It's far from a complaint though, Kyoutani looks amazing (he always does) and Numai wouldn't prevent him from dressing the way he likes. He leans over, cupping Kyoutani's cheek with his right hand and pulls him closer so their lips can touch. There's relief in the kiss, Numai has been dying to do this all evening and now he finally can, there's no way he'd pass up on it.   
  
“Hey.” It’s a fond sort of echo, and Kyoutani can’t help the way his mouth curves up into something like a smile. He sighs into the kiss, turning a little in his seat so Numai doesn’t have to lean all the way over. Their lips brush softly in a way that says  _ I missed you _ , and Kyoutani savors it for as long as possible before they pull back. “Like this?” Kyoutani looks down at his crop top and smirks. “What, it’s a turtleneck, that’s gotta count for something. Plus, I’ve got a coat on.” He tugs at the puffy fur-lined jacket. It goes almost all the way to his knees. Really it’s warm enough that Kyoutani doesn’t even feel the cold despite leaving it unzipped, but Numai looks cute when he’s nagging at him, so he doesn’t mention it.  
  
“It’s too damn cold,” Numai gently pokes Kyoutani’s stomach, he settles back and they buckle up. Numai sets off towards the dormitory. “I’ll be glad when we’re back. I’ve been wanting to be alone with you all night.” There’s something else behind it, something that’s close to a suggestion for more, and light flirting behind it. “Do you want to do something tomorrow? A date, maybe.” Numai glances at Kyoutani, gauging Kyoutani’s reaction to the question.   
  
“Oh?” Kyoutani raises an eyebrow. It’s not like he hasn’t been longing for the same thing, but it’s different hearing it from Numai. “Yeah, that sounds amazing.” He can’t keep the grin off of his face. Going out, spending time with Numai without the pressure of finals looming over his shoulders, it sounds like perfection. It’s a chance to get away from it all, to leave the club and the university behind.  
  
“Great, it’s something to look forward to.” Numai smiles brightly. The drive back is pretty quick and he’s grateful for it, taking Kyoutani’s hand to lead him inside and up to his room. He pulls him inside and kisses him like it’s the first time. There’s need and want in every inch of it, his tongue sliding between Kyoutani’s lips, his hands running over Kyoutani’s waist. When he pulls back, he’s still close enough that their lips brush and their breath mixes together. “I missed you so much.”  
  
Kyoutani melts into the kiss, meeting every ounce of Numai’s want with his own. It’s a hungry sort of thing but food is the last thing on his mind. Soft lips, the warm brush of Numai’s tongue, Kyoutani wants to lose himself in this, to spend something like forever with Numai in his arms. “I missed you too,” His voice is low, coming from deep in his chest. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Kyoutani slips out of his shoes, stepping forward enough that Numai has to step back. “About all the things I wanna do to you.” His coat slips from his shoulders and lands softly on the floor. He takes another step and this time Numai can only back up a little bit more before his back hits the wall. Kyoutani’s hands land on either side of Numai’s face and he leans in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You nearly drove me crazy tonight, Kazuma.” It’s a whisper now, and Kyoutani’s lips find Numai’s neck, kissing gently along the vein.   
  
Kyoutani’s demanding movements leave Numai flushing, warmth rushes through him, it feels like magma in his veins and it all shoots south when Kyoutani presses him against the wall, trapping him there. “Ken,” He breathes out, his head tipping automatically to give Kyoutani more room. “I’m all yours, you know that. You can do anything, except hickeys, I can’t have them...I wish you could, I want you to cover me, let everyone at the club know that I belong to someone.” His hands slide over Kyoutani’s ass and he squeezes, pulling Kyoutani in a touch closer.  
  
“I know.” Kyoutani presses their bodies together. There’s no space between them now, and he can feel the rise and fall of Numai’s chest. If he focuses, he can almost feel their hearts beating together too. He kisses his way down to where Numai’s collarbone peeks out of the collar of his shirt, pausing to nip lightly at the skin there. “Mine.” It comes out as more of a growl, the sort of sound that’s felt, rather than heard. There’s something primal about it, and every move Kyoutani makes is pure instinct. He braces himself against the wall with one hand, and the other runs down Numai’s chest. It’s not the same sort of feather light touch as it was back in the private room, this time it’s firm, demanding. His fingers find the hem of Numai’s shirt and his hand slips under savoring the warmth of Numai’s skin against his fingertips. “I’ve been wanting to touch you all night.”  
  
Numai groans softly, fingers digging into Kyoutani’s ass. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About having your hands all over me,” He watches Kyoutani, shifting away from the wall a little so he can pull his shirt off and toss it aside. He doesn’t want anything separating them and he reaches for Kyoutani’s shirt too, throwing it to the floor. “I want you so bad.” He grabs Kyoutani’s arm and leads him to the bed, pushing him down. “I want to put on a show for you. One you’ll never forget.” He shucks off his sweatpants, revealing the mesh briefs he was wearing earlier. There’s no music, but it’s easy to sway his body like there is. He slides over Kyoutani and wanders his fingers down his chest, he rolls his hips down, biting his lip as their bodies press together.   
  
Forgetting isn’t something Kyoutani thinks he’ll ever do when it comes to Numai, especially when he’s like this. Heat floods Kyoutani’s veins when he sees what Numai is wearing, how he’s moving. “Fucking hell,  _ Kazu _ .” The name comes out as something similar to a moan. It rolls out from Kyoutani’s chest much in the same way that Numai’s body rolls on top of his. He runs his hands up Numai’s sides, bringing them around to the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss. “You look perfect like this babe.” And Numai does. His hair is still a little messy, tousled in a way that makes Kyoutani want to run his fingers through it. The soft pink caught so perfectly between his teeth. It’s unreal, and yet Numai is here anyways.  
  
“I want you to feel good tonight.” Numai dances in Kyoutani’s lap, hands exploring over Kyoutani’s chest, down his stomach to where their bodies meet, he slides them over Kyoutani’s groin, fingers dancing along the bulge. “I know it can’t be easy seeing me work, but you’re the only one I’ll ever touch like this,” He slides from Kyoutani’s lap, to fall on his knees between Kyoutani’s legs. “You’re the only one I’d do this to.” He makes quick work of Kyoutani’s pants, throwing them somewhere behind him. Numai fans his fingers over Kyoutani’s thighs, sliding them upwards, over Kyoutani’s groin and hips. He leans forward, nudging Kyoutani back so he can kiss along his stomach then down over the fabric of his boxers.   
  
Kyoutani’s eyes grow wide when Numai sinks to the floor. He lifts his hips to help Numai ease off his pants. The brush of Numai’s fingers against his skin makes him groan, head tipping back ever so slightly. He knows what’s coming, but somehow it doesn’t prepare him for the feeling of Numai’s lips on his stomach. Even through the fabric of his boxers, Numai’s mouth sends electricity racing up Kyoutani’s spine. He sucks in a breath, hands balling up in the blankets so he has something to hang onto. The way Numai looks between his legs might just be the hottest thing he’s ever seen and he doesn’t want to look away for a second. “Holy shit.” Kyoutani’s voice is breathy, so soft he’s almost not sure if he said it at all.   
  
Numai hooks his fingertips over the waistband of Kyoutani’s boxers, eyes flicking up to read his face, it’s easy to see that he’s just as into this as Numai is and his eyes don’t stray away as he pulls Kyoutani’s boxers down. It’s only once the fabric is tossed to the side that Numai flicks his eyes back, wandering hungrily over Kyoutani, his fingers curl around Kyoutani’s cock and he strokes him slowly. “You feel good.” Numai mutters; his fingers rest around the base then he dips forward, giving the head two licks before closing his lips around it. He slides down, feeling Kyoutani fill his mouth perfectly, he slowly bobs his head, his hands resting over Kyoutani’s thighs.   
  
Heat races through Kyoutani’s veins like someone has poured kerosine on the fire burning low in his stomach. He tells himself it’s just from the way Numai’s fingers feel against his length, or how Numai’s tongue piercing feels when it drags against him; but it’s those words, mumbled softly right before Numai dips his head down. Kyoutani rests back on his palms, his arms shaking a little at the feeling of Numai’s mouth wrapped around him. His lips fall open in a moan that would be embarrassing if he wasn’t already so far past caring. And then Numai moves against him, so slowly he can feel everything, every press of his tongue, every scrape of his piercing. It’s so slow it’s nearly painful, and Kyoutani’s head falls forward and his breath slips from his lips in tiny pants.   
  
Numai smooths his tongue along the underside of Kyoutani's cock, bobbing his head quicker, he can't help but hum at the feeling of giving Kyoutani a blow job. He'd happily sit here on his knees and make Kyoutani fall over the edge, but he wants so much more. It feels like no time has passed at all when he pulls back to breathe, Kyoutani's length falling from his lips with a small  _ pop _ . He pulls himself up to his feet, swaying his hips slowly for a minute, he slides off the briefs then climbs onto the bed next to Kyoutani. “I've been thinking about this.” Numai slides his fingers over Kyoutani's thigh, brushing along past his cock. “I want you.” It's a simple admission and he lays back, reaching over to retrieve a small bottle of lube. It's already been used, the liquid down to halfway. Numai is tempted to show Kyoutani just what he means, but he wants Kyoutani's fingers on him— _ inside him _ . “Every time I've used this,” He passes over the bottle and lets his legs fall apart. “I've been imagining that I'm with you.”  
  
Kyoutani groans, his hips rising instinctively forward as Numai pulls off of him. There’s a question in his eyes, a silent  _ what now _ , but he doesn’t have to ask. His eyes follow Numai’s briefs as they fall to the floor, taking in every inch of skin. His breath catches in his throat. The bed dips down as Numai settles next to him, his fingers trailing softly up Kyoutani’s leg in a way that makes him twitch. His heart hammers in his chest, beating in a way that feels horribly unhinged but so incredibly addicting. He takes the bottle from Numai’s hand. It’s impossible not to think about what’s behind those words. About Numai’s unsteady breath, heavy in the quiet room as he stretches himself open. The thought alone is enough to make his head spin. “Fuck,  _ Kazu _ ,” Kyoutani shifts, leaning down to begin a trail of soft kisses from Numai’s knee all the way up to his inner thigh. “That’s so fuckin hot.” He smooths his palm against Numai’s other leg, letting his eyes slide up to take in the hard line of Numai’s length. He straightens a little, gaze flicking to Numai’s face. “Shit, is that why they call you cobra?”   
  
“You’re right here now. I don’t need to imagine anymore. You can touch me.” Numai breathes, eyes watching Kyoutani as he kisses up his leg. When their eyes meet, his heart jumps. He can feel his whole body burst with heat at the question, he almost wants to reach down and cover up again, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to hide anything from Kyoutani. “I-I,” Numai trips over his words, blush deepening as his eyes slowly drift away from Kyoutani. “I just like snakes! It’s got nothing to do with anything else.” His eyes fall back on Kyoutani and he shifts slightly. “It’s...Not that big.” It’s a soft mutter, a pout hiding behind the words, anything to try and calm his embarrassment.  
  
Kyoutani’s hand slides up, holding Numai’s hip firmly in place. “Hey,” It comes out far more gentle than his voice was before, almost enough to catch himself off guard. The rough pad of his thumb makes small circles against Numai’s skin. “You’re perfect. Every inch of you is perfect.” He leans forward, brushing their lips together in a kiss that’s slow and intense in much the same way that a lot of things are with Kyoutani. There’s a click as he opens the lube, and he pulls back so he can slick up his fingers. He presses a final kiss to Numai’s inner thigh, and then reaches down between them to smooth his finger over Numai’s hole. His fingers make slow circles, massaging the ring of muscle before he gently pushes one into Numai’s tight heat.   
  
Numai’s body shivers under Kyoutani’s touch, he melts into it. “Ken,” It’s a soft sigh, and he brushes his hand gently over Kyoutani’s arm. “You’re perfect too.” His heart jumps when he hears the bottle open, pounding loudly with excitement. He watches Kyoutani with keen interest, he swallows when Kyoutani kisses his skin again, gasping at the first touch. It’s small, simple but it sets Numai’s body in a rush and when Kyoutani’s finger slides in, he swears under his breath, his hips following the touch. “That feels amazing.  _ You _ feel amazing.”  
  
Every gasp, every breathy word makes Kyoutani’s heart pound. He wants to memorize the way Numai looks, laid bare against the sheets. When Numai is ready he adds a second finger, massaging his walls and stretching him open simultaneously. It’s a slow process, Kyoutani takes his time learning what makes Numai gasp more and pressing further. His other hand traces random shapes against the line of Numai’s hip. Kyoutani had said that he wants to take his time with Numai, and he means it, even if it forces him to be patient.   
  
Numai moans softly, his head lulling back into the pillow. He reaches down to rest his hand over Kyoutani’s and gently squeezes his fingers, hips rocking slowly into every movement that Kyoutani makes. He knows that this is necessary, but he’s aching to have Kyotani, he’s been aching for weeks. “Kentaro,” It comes out in a soft sigh and he reaches over with his other hand, pulling back a condom. It’s not like Numai planned for this to happen tonight, but there’d been a thrill settling under his skin since Numai saw Kyoutani in the club. “A little quicker,” He drops the condom to the bed then covers his face with his arm, squirming under Kyoutani’s touch. “ _ Please _ , Ken.”   
  
Kyoutani huffs out something that’s almost a laugh, a smirk cracking onto his face. “Okay, okay. I just don't wanna hurt you.” He adds a third finger, stretching Numai open as quickly as he can while still being careful. It’s only a couple more pumps of his fingers before Kyoutani is pulling out, grabbing the condom from where Numai tossed it. He opens it quickly, rolling it down his length and slicking himself up with more lube. “Let me see you.” His voice is gruff and his fingers reach up to guide Numai’s arm away from his face. Kyoutani lines himself up, his hands coming to settle on Numai’s waist. He glances up, “Ready?”  
  
Numai gasps, eyelids fluttering, chest heaving. He looks at Kyoutani, reaching out to pull him in closer, their lips brush and Numai knows his are already wet, red from where he’d been biting his lip. Kyoutani’s words rush through him and he nods, shifting his hips closer, his legs hooking over Kyoutani’s waist. “I’m more than ready,” He whispers, his thumb traces a line over Kyoutani’s cheek and he closes the small distance left between them so they can kiss. “You could never hurt me.” Numai’s eyes flicker down to their waists, he can see the base of Kyoutani’s dick, where it meets a soft batch of hair, and he wants to feel every inch. “ _ Fuck _ , you have no idea how long I’ve been imagining this. Don’t keep me waiting.  
  
It’s all the encouragement Kyoutani needs. He presses in, groaning against Numai’s lips at the feeling of him. Hot, tight, and so perfect around his cock that it’s like they were made for each other. “Shit, Kazuma, you feel so good.” It’s a low rumble in his chest and he sounds every bit as wrecked as he feels. He doesn’t stop until he’s bottomed out, their hips pressing against each other. Kyoutani brings their lips together for another kiss. He pulls out slowly and snaps his hips forward, setting a fast pace. It’s not like Kyoutani to do anything with less than one hundred percent effort, and this is no different.   
  
Numai gasps, his head falls backwards and he groans softly, his fingers digging into Kyoutani's arm. “God, that feels good. You're perfect.” He runs his hand over Kyoutani's arm, breathing slowly as he gets used to the feeling. Even though he's been touching himself, it feels much different to be filled like this. His legs hook tighter over Kyoutani's waist and he groans when he finally moves, he slides easily and Numai’s mouth drops open, a pant falling easily from his lips, then a groan of pleasure. “Yeah, just like that.” His hips slide down against Kyoutani, slower than the pace Kyoutani has set.  
  
Kyoutani settles into it, his thrusts even out, becoming longer, deeper, matching up with the slide of Numai’s hips. Every sound that drips from Numai’s mouth sends his heart racing like an engine turned on overdrive. His fingers press into Numai’s hips, light enough to avoid leaving any sort of mark, but firm so that Kyoutani feels the way his muscles shift under his hands. There’s something addictive about seeing Numai like this, mouth open and panting beneath him. It’s alluring, and Kyoutani reaches up to brush his thumb gently along the velvet skin of Numai’s lip. “You look so fucking good like this, Kazu, all for me.”   
  
Numai groan runs deep, pulled out of his throat with every thrust of Kyoutani's hips. His heart races completely out of control, Kyoutani holds him a way that leaves him somewhere between aching and completely satisfied, he wants more, he wants everything. His legs tighten around Kyoutani's hips, pulling him in closer; the movement makes his breath hitch and when Kyoutani touches his lip, he runs his tongue over the digit, letting his piercing flick down against it. He runs his hand up Kyoutani's arm, along his neck and up to curve around Kyoutani's head. “I'll only ever be yours, Ken,” It's all said in a breath, soft and sincere. “I'm all yours.”  
  
Kyoutani shifts forward, bracing himself against the mattress so he can litter soft kisses over Numai’s skin. The move changes the angle of his hips and a breathy sort of moan catches in his throat at the feeling. Numai’s hand leaves sparks in its wake as it traces along his skin. And then it settles on Kyoutani’s neck—so hot it’s almost searing. He presses Numai into the sheets, and somewhere, distantly, he’s aware the bed is creaking slightly with the force of everything. “Mine.” He punctuates the word with a gentle nip to Numai collarbone, more a light brush of teeth against skin rather than something more. No marks, he remembers, although he can imagine just how pretty Numai would look with them.  
  
“Next time,” Numai groans, he reaches down with his other hand to touch himself, already leaking against his abdomen. He leans into Kyoutani, gently kissing along his neck, followed by a nip of teeth, he sucks a soft mark and smooths the spot over with his tongue. “Mine.” Numai hums. He can imagine Kyoutani covering him and he doesn’t want anything else. “Cover me up next time.” His fingers curl tighter into Kyoutani’s skin. “ _ Fuck _ , I’m close Ken.”   
  
“Yours.” Kyoutani agrees. A strangled sound catches in his throat at the feeling of Numai’s lips on his neck, at the sharp pinch of teeth against his skin. It drives him wild, sending a new wave of heat and arousal through him when he thought more was impossible. He covers Numai’s hand with his own so they can both stroke his cock, moving in time with Kyoutani’s hips. His thumb runs over Numai’s slit. “Me too Kazu,” Every word is gasped out, hazy with the feeling of it all. His hips falter in their rhythm and he moans. “Shit, you feel amazing.” Just a little bit more will send him over the edge and his fingers press a little harder into the line of Numai’s hip.   
  
“Oh, fuck!” Numai grunts when Kyoutani touches him. His head tips back further, his movements quickening against Kyoutani as he feels the tightening sensation in his stomach. “Feels so good.” He mutters, his hand slipping to the back of Kyoutani's neck, fingers and nails digging further into the flesh. A soft gasp leaves his lips, followed by a grunt, “Ken!” Numai groans loudly, the coil in his stomach snaps and he spills over their hands and abdomen, body rutting against Kyoutani as his orgasm washes over him.   
  
What precisely tips Kyoutani over the edge is impossible to say. Maybe it’s the way Numai arches against the sheets, the way his hips grind against Kyoutani’s. Maybe it’s the bite of Numai’s fingers, pressing into his skin as if he’s trying to ground himself, or the way Kyoutani can feel the pleasure wash over Numai as much as he can see it. Or maybe it’s a little bit of everything, coming together to build into something exponentially larger. Kyoutani’s hips stutter and he comes, groaning out Numai’s name like it’s the only word he knows. He fucks Numai through it, slowing as they both fade into a hazy sort of afterglow. “You’re amazing.” It’s raw, the words muttered without thinking as Kyoutani pulls from Numai. He throws away the condom, grabbing some tissues on his way back to the bed to wipe their mess.   
  
Numai hums, he takes some of the tissues to clean his hand and wipe down his body, he drops them into the trash then wiggles under the covers, holding his arms out for Kyoutani to join him. “You’re amazing, that was perfect.” He sinks into the bed, yawning slightly. “It’s been a long night. Come cuddle with me and sleep. We can figure out what we wanna do tomorrow when it’s morning.”  
  
As if an offer like that is something Kyoutani could ever refuse. He climbs into bed beside Numai, pulling him close so their chests are almost pressed together. His fingers trace soft patterns up Numai’s arm and then back down again. Like this, despite the fact that Numai is a good few centimetres taller, Kyoutani’s lips are able to brush Numai’s forehead and he presses a kiss to it. “Tomorrow.” He hums, eyes heavy with sleep.   
  
Numai curls himself around Kyoutani, being this close makes his heart pound loudly and he wonders if Kyoutani can hear the effect he has. He presses a few kisses over Kyoutani’s cheeks and snuggles into him. “Sleep well. Goodnight, Ken.” It feels like something is left unsaid but Numai can’t place what it is, so he lets himself relax, chasing the thought as his eyes droop shut.


End file.
